Know Your Enemy
by javert's sister
Summary: AU - Eponine is given a job by her father - to spy on the formidable Inspector Javert. What effect will this have on how the plot of Les Miserables unfolds? It is a mixture of book and musical. I don't own anything, obviously.
1. Chapter 1 Ponine's assignment

Know your Enemy

I know it's short; I'm kind of keeping it at a teaser length, though the next chapters will hopefully be longer. Please read and review.

After that fiasco in the square Eponine knew she was lucky to still be alive, and better still, without any broken bones. The last time she had failed to keep a close enough watch for the law during one of her father's despicable cons he had broken her arm, 'to sharpen her mind for the next time'. Yes, she was 'sorry' alright. Sorry he hadn't ended up in prison, where his kind belonged. 'Your kind too, Eponine,' she thought bitterly, 'you can't pretend you're any better than he is. If nobility is hereditary, then so is poverty.' She flinched as her father made his way over to the corner where she was sitting, then made her eyes empty of the hate she felt and looked up into his face.

"Eponine, I've got a new job for you. Since you can't keep a decent watch on the law in general, I want you to spy on the main man we need to watch out for. We may as well know our enemy as well as we can, and this man is the most dangerous of the lot."

She knew to whom he was referring, and the terror weld in the pit of her stomach. Inspector Javert. How on earth was she supposed to spy on a spy? He would know all the tricks. She might be street-smart and quick-witted, but she didn't have a prayer of out-witting the cleverest inspector in Paris. Her father own was sending her on a virtual suicide mission. 'So what's new?' she thought, but "Yes, father" came out of her mouth. It was not wise to antagonise a man such as her father without a good reason, not if one wanted to remain capable of independent movement afterwards, and if there was one thing Eponine prided herself on, it was her common sense. It was not like she had anything else, after all, neither beauty nor dignity.

Her father's gravelly voice continued "So follow him, keep tabs, see where he goes, who he meets. I want to know what he does every hour of the day. Montparnasse can be our go-between. Meet him every few days to pass on new information. And make sure you stick to Javert. If you're as useless at this as you are everything else, you can make yourself scarce. We won't want you round here no more."

Eponine nodded, for once words would not come from this worldly girl. She stood glumly, gathered her ragged clothes around her body and nodded to her sister and mother before reaching the door of their garret, and, with only the slightest hesitation, pulled it open and was gone into the night.

'To be honest', Eponine thought, a few minutes after leaving, the cold wind of Paris blowing through the pitiful rags she had the dignity to call clothes. 'I have absolutely no idea where to start looking. A crime scene would be best; he always seems to be the first police officer to get there, which is probably a reflection of how good an officer he is. So do the obvious thing: find a crime scene. Just one problem, crime scenes don't just appear. You have to make one.' The idea, was, if she said so herself, quite a good one. And she knew exactly where to find a willing participant. The Elephant.


	2. Chapter 2 The failed plan

I forgot to put this at the beginning of the first chapter, so it's going here: I do not own the recognisable characters, only a somewhat manic imagination. Please read and review. I will answer them if I ever work out how to. I'm kind of technophobic. On another note, if anyone would like to beta read my story, as I am aware it needs a lot of improving, I'd love to hear from you.

* * *

"Hello, little brother. Still enjoying being a single boy of the streets?"

If Gavroche had not had a reputation to uphold as a fearless gamin, he would have jumped a few feet in the air at the rough voice behind him. "God, 'Ponine, give a fella some warning. You an' your bloody stealth, how did you manage to sneak up here without me hearin'? I think Paris deserves my presence a little longer, an' as for your question, yeah, I'm still likin' the streets, and not plannin' on stoppin' any time soon an' come home to the family fold. Speakin' o' which, I take it that's where those particularly colourful bruises on your face come from."

"Nah, that's just dirt, that is." She turned her back to the light though. "Anyhow, I've got a job, an' I need your help." She sat down, appreciating the décor inside the elephant rather wistfully. 'How does my little brother live in a place more comfortable than the rest of the family? Maybe I should go it alone like he has. It may well be a better life.'

"What I need to do is spy on Javert. Since your always claimin' that 'that inspector thinks he's something but it's you what runs this town' I figured you wouldn't mind helpin' me. I need to create a crime scene, but one that I'm not involved in, but standing at the side, just watchin' so I can follow him once it's done. That's where you come in. You can make a scene, using your gamin friends, then escape. I dunno know what kind of scene, maybe a theft of a street cart or summat."

She was not amused when Gavroche gave an odd giggle, one of the attributes which showed he was still a child at heart, and not the fearless gamin he showed to the rest of Paris. "Ponine, 'ave you gone crazy? I think father has hit you one time too many, an' you've lost that last brain cell. I dunno how you think that plan will work, but it won't, I'll end up in prison an' you'll never keep a tail on the inspector. Just go home an' tell father you can't do it. You're just a girl."

To Gavroche's surprise a sound similar to a sob escaped Eponine. "I can't. Please, Gavroche, you know how rarely I ask you for help, but you've gotta help me now."

"Alright, alright. Don't go cryin' on me, it'll ruin my best shirt". This joke fell rather flat, for it was, in fact, his only shirt. Gavroche helped his sister up. "Well, if I'm gonna have to risk life an' limb for dear old dad, I guess now is as good a time as any. Come on, Ponine, we've got an inspector to find."

They climbed down the elephant together, and headed towards Montmartre, it being a good place to engineer a crime scene. This grubby gamin and bold girl looked not at all out of place on the streets they wandered, nor did they look unhappy, despite the cold and the dirt and the bruises. They walked slowly, rather savouring the darkness, which acted as a cloak between them and prying eyes. There was something peaceful about the black sky and muffled noises, not frightening as many people thought, but somewhat sad.

They finally reached a street which looked like it had criminal promise. There were several street carts and people selling things off them. Gavroche was about to wander over to one of his gamin friends who were, Eponine thought, hanging around rather suspiciously, when a slight child, who looked barely five, ran over to a cart whose owner was talking to the person next to him and was thus not looking at his cart. The child's arm whipped out and snatched an apple. He looked quickly elated, and froze with the joy of holding food in his hand. This was his mistake. If he had run immediately he may have been safe, but as it was, the stall owner was alerted by the man whom he was talking to. He whirled around, landing a blow to the child's head. The child fell back, the apple dropping to the floor, which was fortunate for him, because the stall owner trod on it and rolled his ankle, thus allowing the child to run. He did not get far, however, for he ran straight into the waiting arms of a police officer. It was not Inspector Javert, for he was across the street, looking, as he always did, stern and condescending, but it was in fact a junior officer, one whom Javert was meant to be training. Javert pushed himself off the wall on which he was leaning, and came over. He did not even look at the child, but instead talked to the other officer. "Well, you know the procedure, so do it."

The younger officer quickly rattled off what he had to do, and the gamin was taken away. Eponine followed at a distance, feeling sorry for the poor boy. Gavroche would have had the sense not to get caught, but this one must have been half delirious with hunger to attempt something so blatant. She kept half a street length behind the procession, walking casually. They came at last to a police station she knew well; one near the Seine, and the child was taken inside. 'He'll be lucky to come out anytime soon' Eponine thought, feeling vaguely guilty that she was profiting at this boy's expense, but that could not be helped: it may just as easily have been Gavroche being led, trembling, into the police station. One did not get far on the streets by developing a conscience, but the fact remained that Eponine had acquired one, albeit almost by accident. That must be what came of spending too much time with students, or one student in particular, never mind that he never seemed to spend any time with her.

Eponine settled herself down to wait, leaning with a catlike grace against a wall a little way from the station. She did not think they'd be very long inside, and then she could follow Javert to wherever it was he was going next, probably to his house, seeing as the sun was rapidly. Even formidable policemen had to sleep and eat at some point, she supposed.


	3. Chapter 3 Being followed

Here's the next instalment. Just as a note, the underlined words come from the musical, while the italics denotes past actions.

* * *

Eponine was uncertain how much longer she could stay sitting there in her thin rags, at least without developing hypothermia. Night had fallen many hours ago, and still Javert had not left the police station. She had slid down the wall, resting her eyes but keeping her ears alert for any footsteps, but none had materialised. There must be a back exit to the police station. Surely Javert could not still be in there? Most of the policemen she knew were corrupt sergeants who would do the least amount of work possible, and take bribes in order to line their pockets, but how was Eponine to know that Javert was the very antithesis of this? It had, nevertheless been hours, and even the hardest working policeman deserved rest. Footsteps did, finally, interrupt her reverie, but she kept her head bent down so as not to be recognised by whomever it was that passed her by.

Once the steps had muffled a bit she looked up and to her right. It was indeed Inspector Javert who was walking away from the station, hands clasped rigidly behind his back as always. His dark coat flapped around his calves, tightly done up against the chill. 'Well, lucky 'im, to have a coat at all. It's more than what most of us have got' Eponine thought. She stood up slowly, the cold in her bones dissipating as she began walking, trying to keep up with the long strides of the inspector. This was difficult, but that was not surprising, for not only were her muscles contracted and stiff from the cold, but she could not run for fear of drawing attention to herself. The keen eyes of Javert were well noted by the criminals of Paris, and he would be sure to notice any sudden movements. Javert turned left, and she copied him, but could find no trace of him when she came round the corner. 'That is _**not**_ good. It either means his house is on this street, though I can't see that bein' the truth, l'inspecteur would not live in such an area, or he knows I'm followin' him and is waitin' to ambush me an' take me off to prison. An' who knows, it's probably better than livin' with the Thenadiers anyway'. She therefore continued to walk down the street, checking the doorways to ensure he was not merely waiting to jump upon her. She was indeed jumped upon, but not by Javert.

The leering yet oddly beautiful face of Montparnasse appeared out of the darkness. "Well, if it ain't Eponine Thenardier, or should I say Jondrette, I'm not sure which it is nowadays. Quite the little spy, aren't we? Very good, up to this point, but now you've lost him, ain'tcha."

Eponine could barely stop herself trembling at his tone, and violently shook her head. She made her voice low, and hoped that would disguise it's wavering. "No, I ain't. He around 'ere somewhere, ain't he. He's gotta be. He's just gone into his house, o' course. I'll just wait out here until he comes out again, won't I?"

Montparnasse grinned, his expression becoming more hyena-like. The laughing variety thereof. He had evidently seen through her charade of fearlessness. "Indeed, my sweet. Though I dunno if you will survive staying out here in the cold much longer. You look like you need a man to warm you up. Come on 'Ponine, while we wait for _monsieur l'inspecteur_ to put in an appearance. An' anyhow, we were meant to arrange a meet to pass information on, so let's arrange one now."

Eponine slowly took a step backwards, all the while staring into those frightful eyes. Eponine knew the saying 'a person's eyes are a window to their soul' but she had never believed it, and now did so even less. Montparnasse's eyes were wide, blue and innocent, hinting nothing of the condition of his soul, which she knew was as mean and shrivelled as that of her father. The difference was that her father looked like what he was, while Montparnasse looked like any of the friendly dandies one saw on the streets of Paris. This made him the more dangerous man by far. "I know we were supposed to, but as there's no information yet, it seemed a bit pointless, alright? I've only been tailin' him a couple o' hours." She tried to project some humour into her voice to make her sound more confident than she actually was. "I mean, I know I'm brilliant an' all, but I can't work miracles." That, she knew, was a pathetic attempt at humour, and if anything it seemed to place her in deeper trouble.

Montparnasse's face broke into an even more pronounced grin. "Don't we know it. Your father was livid the other day when you let the law get right on top of us with barely a warnin'. That, in fact, is the real reason I'm here. Your father said you may need a reminder of what you were to do."

On hearing the footsteps continue to follow him, even into the street on which he lived, Javert continued, leading his pursuer away from his house. He had known, almost instantly upon seeing the bundle of rags on the floor outside the police station, that something unusual was taking place. This may have been because of his honed inspector's instincts, but it may equally have been something deeper than that: that over-clichéd word, destiny.

Whatever was the case, Javert ducked noiselessly into a doorway, the darkness settling around him, and he waited for his tail to catch up. No doubt whoever they were would check all the doorways, if they were worth their salt at all.

Strangely enough, his pursuer never made it to the doorway in which he was concealed. Instead he heard a man's voice, but despite the night's still air he could not hear the exact words. To his surprise, the reply that came was in the voice of a woman, guttural and rough to be sure, but recognisable as female. Javert glanced round the porch, hoping to see who it was that had tailed him. It certainly could not have been the man who was talking. The bundle of rags he had seen in the street could not possibly have concealed one such as he, so it must therefore have been the woman. He recognised the girl with a start, though he did not know her name: she had been in the square the day before yesterday, the one who had shouted a warning. But she had seen him long before she gave her warning. He remembered well what had happened:

_She stares across at him. She can clearly see he's a policeman and she open her mouth, probably to shout a warning to whatever gang she is the lookout for. But then she closes it again, and merely continues staring. He goes past her, and as he does so she walks towards where the gang must be operating. She nods at him, then enters the square and shouts "__It's the police, disappear! Run for it, it's Javert__!" He almost smiles to hear his name spoken with such fear, but then wipes his expression smooth and strides into the square. _

He had wondered for the last few days why this gamine had allowed him to enter the square practically without giving any warning to the criminals, and the only reason he could come up with was that she wanted them to be caught. She had had to give some sort of warning else the gang would know she had betrayed them, but she had left it late enough so that none of them would have time to escape. He wondered why she would want them caught, for although he did not know what she was called (he made a point, after all, of not calling convicts or criminals by their names) he did know that her father was the leader of this particular gang. In any case, this was that girl, and she was now cornered by the man, whoever he was. If they would exchange places Javert would be able to see more than just his back. As he continued to watch, he saw the man lift his hand up and entwine his fingers in the girl's knotty hair. It looked like a tender movement, until his grip hardened and her head was knocked into the wall behind her back.

Now, Javert was no knight in shining armour, but he was a policeman in a dark coat, and this meant he was duty bound to see actual bodily harm punished, no matter who the perpetrator or receiver was. He stepped out from the doorway, the sound of his footsteps making the man turn around. He let go of the girl's hair, and she slumped against the wall and slid down it. Her eyes were open and she was trying to shake her head. To clear it, Javert wondered, or to tell him to go away? It did not really matter, for now Javert recognised the man standing opposite him. Montparnasse.

"Good evening. Or should I say morning? It is, after all, past midnight. To what do I owe the pleasure of having you on my street, Montparnasse?" Of course this was not actually the street which Javert's house was, though it was not an actual lie, for Javert would not lie, even to save himself, it was just that he considered all the streets of Paris to be the law's, and therefore, by extension, his. He was not likely to give away his dwelling place to criminals, was he?

Montparnasse refused to grace Javert with an answer; he merely turned and tried to run. It must be remembered that Javert was considered among the gangs and rogues of Paris to have a charmed life, and in any case there was nothing Montparnasse alone could do against him, Javert having the advantages of height and strength, while Montparnasse was little more than a boy. Unfortunately, Montparnasse had not counted on Javert also having the advantage of speed. "Not so fast. Did your mother never teach you it is bad manners to turn your back on authority? No, I did not think so." At this point Javert had to duck to avoid a wildly flailing fist. "So, you are adding assault to an officer of the law to your list of crimes. Well, that should earn you a night in the cells at least. Come along." It really was as easy as that, for instantly all the fight left Montparnasse. As Javert led him away, he threw a regretful glance back at the girl who was slumped against the wall, eyes still open but with her head tilted to one side. He promised himself he would come back and take her to an infirmary somewhere. Justice, however, came first. Always.


	4. Chapter 4 forced confessions

Javert was fuming as he made his way back, the dawn now rising behind him, to the street on which he had found Montparnasse and the girl. Sleepless nights, it was true, did not become any easier to bear with practice. Why had every single inspector and sergeant in the police force seemed to be hell bent on obstructing the course of justice? And he could have sworn paperwork never usually took that long. Still growling about inadequate subordinates, he turned onto the road where he thought he had arrested Montparnasse, but there was no sign of the girl. He was certain he had the correct street, so maybe she had managed to get up and walk away, perhaps scared that he would arrest her next. This was, after all, a justified fear. He nevertheless knocked onto the nearest door to where she had been sitting, reasoning that they may have picked the girl up. A man came to the door, not well dressed but his clothes looked clean enough.

"Excuse me, monsieur, I was wondering if you had noticed a girl on this street, sitting perhaps a little way down from here? She may have had a head injury."

The man nodded. "Oui, monsieur, my wife found her about an hour ago. We took her to the Hotel-Dieu de Paris infirmary. Do you know it?" Indeed Javert did know it, located on the left bank of the Île de la Cité.

"Yes, I know it. Thank you." Javert turned to leave, but stopped and asked "Did she say anything at all? How she got hurt or any such thing?"

"No, monsieur. She merely said her name was Eponine."

* * *

Eponine awoke staring at a white ceiling. It looked miraculously clean; far too clean to be the Thenardier residence. She looked round, and saw, strangely enough, nuns. 'Why nuns?' she thought? 'There's no way I've ended up in heaven, and Montparnasse's blow wasn't that hard anyhow.'

One of the nuns, seeing that their charge was awake, came over. "Ah, mademoiselle, you are awake. That is good. It is dangerous to sleep with a head injury such as you have sustained."

Eponine nodded, winced at the pain, and tried to find her voice. It came out croaky. "Where am I, madame?"

I am Sister Marie-Camille, not 'madame', of the Augustinian order of nuns. This is the Hotel-Dieu de Paris, a hospital. We have cleaned and stitched the cut on your head, and you should take care not to make sudden movements for a few days. Do you have a headache? Any memory loss? Can you remember what happened?"

Eponine could indeed, but was not about to tell what had happened to a **nun**. She tried to make her voice more refined and suitable for a convent "No, sister, I'm afraid I don't remember. I'm sorry for taking up your time. I'll just be goin' then." She started to rise, but a pair of strong hands pushed her down. Surprisingly strong hands, Eponine thought, for a nun.

"No, child, you are going nowhere for a few days. We have a policy in this hospital not to release patients until they are returned to full health, and you, mademoiselle, are far from a picture of wellbeing. And besides, you have a visitor." Eponine tried to remain composed. A visitor? It could only be a family member, probably Azelma. She was the only one who cared enough for Eponine to come out. But she should not have come; it would only get her in trouble with Father. And how did she know she was in here anyway? It could only have been a few hours?

The door started to open, and Eponine called out "Azelma. Don't come in. Go back to Father. You know what he was like last time." To her surprise, Azelma did not listen, as she usually did to her older sisters' words but continued to open the door. Eponine froze and her admonition caught in her throat. "Not Azelma" she stuttered. She tried to scramble to her feet, a ringing in her ears telling her it was not a good idea but she did it nonetheless. The figure at the door was no girl, but was in fact Javert, come to investigate this slip of a girl who had been following him.

"No. Not Azelma. Inspector Javert." The brusque words had Eponine qualing. She swayed, feeling those pitiless eyes on her, and fell heavily onto the bed. The inspector stayed where he was, and no emotion reached the surface of his face. He leant against the door frame, and though this was a public room, with many other patients occupying other beds in the room, he did not come closer to her bed, seeming content for the whole ward to hear their words.

"No", he continued, "not Azelma at all, I hope." He then turned to Sister Marie-Camille. "When will this girl be fit to leave? A few hours?"

The nun was shocked. "No, monsieur, a few days, at least. She may have a serious concussion."

Javert turned to Eponine, "I have a few questions for you, and I am sure you would prefer to answer them in private. Therefore, it would be best if you come with me now and return here after we have finished to continue with your medical treatment."

This seemed to mollify the Sister somewhat, and Eponine was only too happy to leave the infirmary. She felt out of place there, with her dirty features in stark contrast with her pristine (compared to what she was used to) surroundings. She and the inspector walked together for a few minutes, neither one speaking. Eponine got the distinct impression that Javert was uncomfortable, but put it merely down to the fact that he was walking in public with her, a common street girl. Who knew what respectable society might think? She could not guess that the truth ran deeper than that, for Javert was in fact thinking about debts. Not of the money kind, for the rigid inspector Javert would never allow himself to be beholden in that fashion. He would rather starve than borrow money from any; his pride would not allow it. It was, in fact, debts of the moral kind which he was contemplating. He owed this girl, Eponine, a debt for allowing him to do his duty to arrest Montparnasse. A debt that must be repaid. But this girl was herself a criminal, yet she had seemed willing for her father's gang to be arrested. This conundrum did indeed disturb Javert, for should Eponine commit a criminal act in the future he would be obliged to hand her over to the law, which hardly seemed a fitting way to repay a debt. He supposed he would merely have to deal with that problem when it arose, however, for there were more pressing matters to attend to: such as why she had been following him.

His skill at interrogations, however, seemed to disappear entirely, for he asked, in a surprisingly gentle voice "So, shall we take it as written that you were following me? I assume on your father's instructions? Why would he wish you to follow me, of all the police in Paris? There are other, higher ranking members who surely deserve such an honour?" The ironic tone on these last words made Eponine look up from the pavement, at which she had been staring fixedly since leaving the infirmary, and to her surprise Javert's face had a slight grin on it, as though laughing at some private joke. She imagined that his soft questioning was merely a technique to make her trust him and thus reveal all she knew. Well, she owed him a debt for protecting her from Montparnasse, so she would answer his questions, some of them even truthfully.

She again tried to modulate her tone, to make it more refined like she had used to speak before her family came to Paris and fell on hard times. For some reason she was ashamed to be seen merely as a gamine by this imposing man. "He feels you're a dangerous man, inspector, an astute man. He knows that of all the inspectors and police officers in Paris you could well be the only one who could pose a significant problem to him. So I was to find out information about you, but I don't know for what purpose."

"I assume you are telling me this for the same reason that you allowed me to enter the square with little warning. But for what reason would you want your father arrested? Surely your way of living would not improve if only the female members of your family were free? And why send you, of all his gang? You are only a girl. There must be more competent, or maybe that's the wrong word, perhaps experienced is better, pursuers among your number?"

"I know I'm just a gamine, but that doesn't make me heartless. I can see that what my father does is wrong, and that he ruins lives, like the life of the man he handed over to you the other day. And he no longer does it only to survive, he does evil for the pleasure of it, and for the control it gives him. Yes, I have stolen, but only to survive, and when I could, only from those to whom it would do no harm. But my father has transcended that."

She had said all this too quickly, her voice was even hoarser than usual when she finished. Javert looked like he was going to speak, and the ironic smirk had vanished. He was instead frowning intensely, looking angry, and Eponine felt she had to continue, to answer his second question. "The reason he sent me? I'm expendable. I have no special skills. Also, I think, as a punishment. I don't reckon he suspects that I knowingly allowed you to enter the square, but he thinks I was careless, and if I'm put in prison for not bein' careful enough, that would suit him perfectly. One less mouth to feed, so more money for gin." Her voice was bitter, remembering the many times she and Azelma, as well as her two younger brothers, had gone hungry because money to be spent on food had instead brought alcohol, which only brought the semblance of warmth and a worse pain afterwards.

Javert was still frowning, but the frown was tinged with another emotion, though Javert himself did not seem to realise it. "So your own father sends you against a man such as me, possibly hoping you will get caught, but you are unaware of the purpose of your spying, or what he intends to do with the information that you give him? Is that basically what you have told me? And what do you intend to do? Will you pass on information about me, knowing that it may lead to my death, for why else would Patron-Minette wish to know about me?"

Eponine shook her head, not knowing what to say in response. If she did not pass on information, she herself would probably been killed. Montparnasse had made that clear enough. But if she did, she would be responsible for the death of another human being, albeit indirectly. It has already been noted that Eponine had developed a conscience, but this ran deeper. This was a morality.

"Of course, I could pass on false information." The idea seemed a good one, for it would result in the death of neither of them, but Javert's eyes flashed angrily.

"That would be a lie. I cannot countenance a lie, even to save my life, or yours."

Eponine felt she could not argue against such a statement, but resolved to herself that this was the best course of action.

They had not realised how long they had been walking, and they were, by now, quite a way from the infirmary. Javert abruptly turned around, remembering the promise to the nun to return Eponine there once he had finished questioning her. "Come." He said brusquely, and as little as Eponine wished to return to a place where she felt so out of place, surrounded as she would be by virtuous, and clean, women, she knew she would have to return, and she may as well do so with dignity.

As they both started walking back the way they had come, Eponine noticed a shadow in the door way behind them that was to dark to be a true shadow. She turned to face Javert, planning to warn him, but he shook his head, much as she had earlier that day when they had faced Montparnasse. "They will not do anything now. They will wait until dark. That is, after all, when criminals feel most confident." He turned, and started walking, and Eponine had no choice but to follow. So now her father would know that instead of tailing Javert, she was walking with him, openly. That could never end well. She would have to speak to her father soon, concoct an excuse. If only her head was not hurting so much she would be able to think far more clearly.


	5. Chapter 5 Information for all

When Javert and Eponine arrived back at the Hotel-Dieu de Paris, he quickly spoke to the Sister and then left, his tall, spare frame slipping easily from the place as if he had never been there. Eponine, however, was left in the care of the nuns, and they fed her, cleaned her up and provided all the charity that a good religious order should. When Eponine stepped out of the hospital a few days later, having escaped by a combination of pleading and actually looking well, for the first time in several years, she felt the cold more acutely than before, possibly because the grime layer on her skin had been washed away and could no longer provide its insulation, and the wind was whistling around her neck as her hair now blew behind her, having been brushed out and washed. This new cleanliness startled and frightened her. She had not yet seen her reflection after she had been cleaned up, but she felt it would be hugely different. Her features could be more clearly discerned, with the sharp cheekbones and chin made more prominent by their paleness without the dirt, and her actual hair colour had become visible: a warm, reddish brown, not the black that would have been assumed before because of how matted it was. Perhaps not quite so positive was the fact that all the bruises on her face where now visible; without the protection of the grime Eponine looked exactly what she was: a beaten child, not a bold gamine. She felt vulnerable without her dirty disguise.

Maybe Marius would notice her, now she was clean, if not beautiful. Or maybe not. She had seen how he had looked at that girl in the square, and she knew she could never compare to her. It was ironic that she could have done, had she been taken from her family and given a proper life, like Cosette had. Eponine remembered Cosette, 'The Lark'. Well, it appeared now that she was a peacock, and Eponine had taken her place as the dull brown bird, never given a second glance. It was strange how fate worked.

She walked swiftly, knowing she had to reach her father soon and explain to him a version of events with which he would be satisfied. The delay in leaving the infirmary may already have cost Javert his life, and may yet cost Eponine her own. She reached the Jondrette residence and opened the door, expecting her mother and sister to be inside, but there was only her father. He had a smirk on his face that seemed to drain all Eponine's courage. This smile on her father's face was far more dangerous than a frown on the face of any other. He did not even seem shocked by her cleaner appearance, though she had been concerned that this would be what would make her story unbelievable.

"I guess you've come to tell me some excuse for why, instead o' followin' Javert, you've been seen cavortin' with him? I assume it was he who got you cleaned up. Doesn't like his whores dirty, does he?" His voice was soft, so that the family in the garret next door would not hear through the thin walls, but all the more menacing for it.

Eponine had expected this opening shot, and had her answer ready, thankful that her father had his own idea for why she was suddenly clean. "Oui, father. I thought that if I were to get close to Javert I could pass on more reliable information. Isn't that a reasonable idea?"

"It would be, if I believed you. Unfortunately for you, I don't. So, what 'reliable information' do you have? In what way do we know our enemy better now than before?" Although he said this with a mocking tone, it seemed that Thenardier was unaware that she had spent only a few hours tailing Javert before she had met with Montparnasse and been consigned to the Hotel-Dieu de Paris, where she had not seen Javert since his first interrogation of her. This was her chance to feed him the false information she had planned then.

"Well, he's based at the station on the Place du Chatelet, or at least that is where he spends most of his days, when not prowlin' the streets, that is. We don't go to his house… it just happens on the street. He must not want to taint his house with a whore." This was the best excuse she could think of to explain why she could not give away his address. "I've lost him a few times after he's left me; I'll say this for him: he's quick and slippery. You would've thought he was one of us by the way he moves."

This, unsurprisingly, did not seem to appease Thenardier. "So that's all you know? And it's not even correct. We know that the post on the Place du Chatelet is only a small place: the police wouldn't have one of their best men there. Well, there's no point ambushin' him 'til we know where he lives. We can't murder a police officer in public, after all. That would be idiotic. Almost as idiotic as being seen with him in full daylight, as you were." Thenardier's voice had dropped further, and Eponine felt she knew what would happen next.

Or what would have happened, had Azelma not come in. "I got lucky, pere. Look what I got." She pulled out a gold watch, hanging on a long chain. She handed to him, and his eyes fell greedily onto its details: the name of the maker engraved neatly on it, the links of the chain. As soon as his eyes touched the watch he seemed to see nothing of the two girls, and Azelma gave Eponine a quick nod. So she had known Eponine was coming home, and had made a plan to divert her father's wrath from her elder sister. How like Azelma. Eponine knew her sister was the better person, always covering for her elder sister when she had spent too much time hopelessly trying to catch the attention of Marius.

"Good work, daughter. If only Eponine could be quite as proficient." He gave a gap-toothed smirk in her direction, then continued: "Well, since you have nothin' useful, you'd better get back out there. Oh, and this time, arrange a meet with Brujon, since Montparnasse has landed himself in prison. I dunno what he was thinkin', tryin' to take on Javert by himself. We agreed we were gonna tackle him together once and for all. But if you have no information for us soon, or if it's wrong again, it won't go well with you, girl."

At these words he pushed Eponine bodily through the door. It seemed from her father's words that Javert was safe, until she handed over his dwelling place, but unless she did that soon she herself would be in danger. Seeing as she did not know where he resided, there was no possible way that she could tell Patron-Minette.

She thought carefully as she wandered aimlessly: she did not want blood on her hands, but nor did she wish her blood to be on the hands of others. She kept walking, not looking where she was going, eventually stumbling onto a bench, exhausted in mind and body. She curled her legs up, her head falling onto her chest, her newly untangled hair spreading down her back and shoulders. She sat still for a few moments until a surprised gasp came from somewhere in front of her.

"Eponine?"

Eponine knew that voice, but she did not raise her head. The voice sounded despairing, and also surprised. She felt a weight on the bench, telling her that the other person had sat down. She glanced to her side, but her companion now had his head in his hands. Eponine wondered what the cause was for such a show, but guessed that Marius would tell her in his own time. She was quite content to sit in silence by his side; this was what she did on her own, and now she had the boon of his actual presence rather than only her imagination. Yet Eponine was coming to realise a truth about herself: she could not distinguish love from friendship. She felt beholden to any male who spoke kindly to her, or indeed spoke to her at all, and convinced herself she loved him, and since Marius was the only one who had done so for any length of time it was upon him that she had fixed her obsession. One kind word from him had convinced her that he was the paragon of all men. But now she had confronted this truth, her fixation, as with all demystified obsessions, began to wane. To be sure, she still loved Marius, and would continue to do so, but she could now envisage a life without him.

His voice continued, muffled from behind his hands, "Eponine, do you remember that girl? The one whose father was attacked in the square? Did you see where they went?" Here he stopped guiltily, and Eponine could sense he was quickly concocting a story to explain why he wanted to find her. "She dropped her basket, and I wanted to return it to her." This was, by Eponine's standards, rather a poor attempt at deceit. She saw in Marius then the emotions she had felt for so long: a hopeless love, and knew then, that even if she had wanted to, she could not refuse him this chance of love, as her chances had been ruined. She decided to put Marius out of his misery, and do what he asked, without even making him say what he wanted. Though she recognised that it would be hard to complete both her father's assignment and her task for Marius, and that she would probably suffer at the hands of her father for it.

"Oui, Monsieur. I will find her for you. I realise o' course that your studies keep you busy. Where can I leave word that I have found her?"

Marius looked up, his eyes wide and surprised, and seemed to take her in properly for the first time in their, admittedly not very long, conversation. But it seemed to go deeper than that, as if he was seeing her for the first time ever. Perhaps this was a chance for a second first impression, if such a thing can exist. But this impression would not be a romantic one either, she realised, but rather a compassionate one, which was, she reflected, an improvement from the piteous impression she had first cast.

"I lodge… in fact, no, come to the Café Musain, in the evening. I will be there."

Knowing that Marius had nothing more to say to her, and sensing that her presence embarrassed him, she turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. Little did she know that embarrassment was emotion he would have felt had she not agreed to his request, but now she had done it was rather compassion that suffused his being.

She stood still, and Marius came to stand in front of her. He lifted a hand and held it just above a bruise on her newly clean brow. "I am sorry." He did not say anything further, but for once there was no pity in his eyes, but instead a kind of pride: possibly he recognised the selflessness that she had displayed. He released her shoulder, and with a nod both walked in opposite directions. She could not tell if he was sorry she was hurt, because he realised she loved him, because he sensed her vulnerability without her customary layer of dirt or because of the imposition his request had made on her, or if it was a combination of all these. She decided it did not matter, for all that mattered was that he did not love her, and she was coming to stop loving him with the abandon she had done.


	6. Chapter 6 Strange Meetings

Eponine would, in time, get round to locating Cosette for Marius, but thought it would be best to arrange a meet with Brujon first, rather than wait for him to come to her as Montparnasse had done. She knew his lair well enough, for it was were much of Patron-Minette's business was conducted. When she came to it, Eponine felt she almost could not enter. It felt like a betrayal of what she was trying to become, to enter a place of such darkness. But it had to be done, if only to save herself and Javert.

"Eponine, come in, or go away, don't just stand there."

Brujon's voice came from behind her, and only will power prevented her from spinning round in surprise. He walked round her and entered, holding the door open for her in a parody of gallantry. "So, when can we meet? Do you have enough information on Javert yet to be able to leave off tailin' 'im for an hour or so at a time? You must do, as you're here now."

"I reckon so. He's usually at the station in the evenin', so I can come then. Shall we meet here?"

"No, we'll keep changin' where we meet, but come here next time. I dunno what that fool Montparnasse was thinkin', confrontin' Javert like that. It wasn't even hours since you'd been given the job. How could you have found out anythin' yet? Have you discovered where he lives now though? It's been a few days."

"As I said to father, he's slippery. Won't let me near where he lives. I'll obviously keep tryin' though."

"You'd better find it soon. Thenardier is gettin' impatient. Thinks you've lost your touch, 'Ponine."

"Nah, I'm still as capable as ever. Expect me the day after tomorrow. I'll probably have some more information by then." She made a quick exit, not knowing how much longer she could stand being in the presence of such a man. She wondered how she had not noticed the quality, or lack thereof, of the men she spent most of her life around. Probably because she had nothing to compare them against, until she had met Marius. But now that she was able to make the comparison, she was disgusted with herself for remaining with these criminals. It did not matter that they would have killed her had she not done what told to do; anything now seemed preferable to her than ruining another life on top of the hundreds this gang had already ruined. And it seemed that Javert's life was the next to be ruined. Well, that she could prevent, at least.

She decided to undertake Marius' task for her next, as it would give her time to think over what to do about Javert. She could not give him up now, so it meant, basically, turning her back on her entire life and going over to the police. Eponine had never thought she would be the one in her family to develop a conscience: it should have been Azelma, yet here she was. Even before she had talked to Javert she had been unwilling to see someone hurt because of her, but now that they had exchanged words it was impossible to countenance it. Before, Eponine had not known the victims of her father's schemes, and even then she had felt pity; how much the worse was it now that she knew him?

This train of thought had taken her to Elephant, and a cry from above told her that Gavroche was at home. Maybe he knew more about the two people that their father had nearly robbed a few days before. A voice came from the structure above her.

"Hey 'Ponine. You didn't sneak up on me that time. Must have somethin' on your mind. Come up an' tell me." With that he disappeared back inside the structure, leaving Eponine to climb up after him.

"God, what happened to you? You're all clean!" Eponine waved her hand, in an 'I'll tell you later' kind of gesture. "Take a seat", he said, pointing at a crate, while he himself languished in what he laughingly called his 'armchair' – a box with a back and arms nailed on and cushions piled high. "So, what can little brother do for you, then?"

"You remember that day in the square, that man that father recognised." Gavroche nodded, feeling that he knew where this was going. "I need to find him, or actually the girl he was with. Did you see where they went?" Eponine had been too busy worrying about what Marius might be getting himself into, volunteering like that as a witness against her father, to worry then about the man whom her father had recognised. Now that she thought back, she had seen such a man only once before; when Cosette was taken away, which had been when all the troubles of the Thenardier family had begun.

"Oui. They went east, towards the river. I can think of loads of streets where such bourgeoisie people would live around there: mostly around the Rue Plumet. That's probably where you should start." Eponine could see the logic in this, and stood up. "Wait a bit, you haven't told me why you're suddenly dirt-free. Did a group of nuns collar you or summat?"

"That's exactly what happened." Disregarding his unbelieving look, which was ironic seeing as it was the truth, she continued, "Now, I gotta go complete this job. See you around."

"Remember, you owe me a favour now." These were his parting words which floated down to her as she descended the Elephant. She smiled to herself, wondering what sort of favour Gavroche could want from her, who had nothing, then headed towards the Rue Plumet. Night was falling as she reached the street, and she knew it was probably useless just to wander around hoping to recognise the two people she had seen days earlier. However, serendipity often works in strange ways, though usually for those who deserve it. As Eponine walked silently down the street her eyes fell on the profile of Cosette sitting in the garden of a house. She could not make out the number in the dark, but the house looked suitable for the bourgeois pair she was looking for.

She remained in the shadows, merely watching the happy, beautiful young woman reading quietly in her garden. Jealousy would be an apt emotion for Eponine now, yet that was not what she felt; rather it was sadness tinged with guilt, for she had come to understand what Cosette must have felt all those years ago when she, Eponine, had been cruel to her merely because that was what the adults did. She closed her hand over her mouth to prevent a groan of sadness escaping her, but Cosette must have heard some wound from the street, or perhaps she merely sensed another presence, for she looked up from her book, directly into Eponine's eyes. Blue met brown, and Cosette stood up suddenly, the book falling unheeded to the ground.

"Thenardier." The tone should not have surprised Eponine, but it did. There was anger, surprise, even pity in Cosette's voice, while the cold use of Eponine's last name shocked her. She supposed it was only her due, considering how she had treated the other girl when they were small. Eponine stayed in the shadows, unsure how Cosette had recognised her in the gloom, but unwilling to come any nearer.

Seeing that she was not going to receive an answer, Cosette continued. "I cannot pretend to understand why you are here, Thenardier, though I assume there is a reason-"

At this point Eponine recovered her voice, and cut Cosette off: "I'm not about to brin' my father here if that is what you're worried about. I saw what he did to that old man in the square, the one you were walkin' with, and I wouldn't do that. I came to see where you lived for that boy in the square, the one who knocked into you. Don't tell me you didn't notice him, I could tell you did. Your eyes didn't leave him, except for a few seconds when the old man was caught. His name's Marius; he wanted your address, and me, stupid gamine that I am, said I'd get it for him, even though-"

And here Eponine herself broke off, unable to believe that she had been about to reveal her love for Marius to this girl who had stolen him. Cosette came to the bars of the gate, peering out at Eponine, trying to get a good look at her. In her passion, Eponine had taken a few steps forward, and Cosette could now see her clearly. She was barely recognisable as the same girl from the square, except for her clothes, which the nuns had been unable to convince Eponine to remove: she was cleaner, for one thing, but her actual face seemed to have changed too, and not merely because the bruises which had marred it were fading. She no longer had the permanently pained look which had indicated her obsession for Marius. Although Cosette was not to know the cause of Eponine's pain, she remembered how she had looked a few days before, and knew at that time she had felt sorry for the street girl, but now Eponine did not look like anyone need feel sorry for her. She was fragile outwardly, yes, but her will was stronger than ever. As if realising Cosette's inspection and knowing she had stepped too far from the shadows, Eponine stepped back until the gloom obscured her features again, and spoke:

"I hope you don't mind me tellin' him where you live. I thought you wouldn't. You seemed to like him too. I'll be off to tell him, then."

With that she turned and slipped fully into the dark. Cosette could say nothing for a moment, then whispered, "Eponine."

AN – I was really worried about how to present Cosette. I am not a great fan of her character, but I don't go in for character-bashing. Can someone tell me if I did a good job, or is this not how she would react?


	7. Chapter 7 Confrontations

After her confrontation (for there is no other word to describe it) with Cosette, Eponine felt emotionally drained, though physically she had to keep walking to continue her task of tailing Javert, a job she had largely given up on, for the more information she found the greater the danger that it would be taken from her by force. She had known, of course, that seeing Cosette would be difficult, due to the endless comparisons which could be made between them, but she had not factored on talking to her, of practically explaining herself to her childhood victim. She was still walking towards the police post on the Place du Chatelet, hoping to find a doorway in which to cower until morning while she waited for Javert to return to what seemed to be his habitual station. She found a suitable one, and curled up, regretting endlessly that she had allowed the nuns to clean her up, as it removed the dirt's insulation. She put her head on her arms, which were clasped around her knees, and leaned back against the wall.

Javert was walking even more briskly than usual. Not that it was cold, or that he was late, just that he felt he should. He rounded the corner onto the Place du Chatelet and headed towards the post, knowing that doubtless there would be the chaos that usually reigned there when he was absent, and that slowly he would put it to rights again. He was about to enter when he glanced across the street, completely by instinct, and saw a familiar figure curled in a doorway. It was still early and the owner of that doorway had yet to make use of it that morning, but Javert felt he clear his doorway of the vagrant making use of it. He walked over, but before he got too close, she stirred, utilising some sixth criminal sense to recognise that she should wake up. He knew that sense well: he had it himself.

She sat up straight, immediately alert, and when her eyes focused on his he saw, with a slight inward smile, that she was afraid. Scrambling to her feet, she looked around, as if expecting to see a whole cohort of police officers lining up to arrest her. Fortunately for her, there was only him.

"So, I still warrant a shadow, do I? I thought you had given up. There is nothing interesting about me to discover, and I believe we had already agreed that you were not going to pass on information to Patron-Minette?"

Eponine tried to think up some excuse as to why she was still following him. The truth was that she was interested. She had known so few honest men, Marius apart, and she wanted to understand this antithesis of everything she had ever known. What she actually said though was: "My father expects me to be still on the job, so I've gotta make a good pretence at it. He also thinks, er, that you, I mean, that we…" She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence, but thankfully Javert knew what she meant and did not need clarification.

"Yes. I can see that would be the case. But you cannot expect me to countenance being followed around by a criminal, no matter if you are slowly reforming, as you seem to be. It would not be good, for my, shall we say, police image." He, however, clearly cares nothing for his image, judging from the way he was talking to her in the middle of the street in plain daylight. Oh, he cared about what he looked like, certainly: his clothing was neat, clean, but this was not an expression of vanity. His clothes were not flamboyant like some police officers' garments. He was dressed for practicality, not show.

Eponine felt she had to warn Javert about what she thought Patron-Minette was planning, if only to provide a reason for his belief that she was reforming, but also for the deeper reason that she was, despite her upbringing, a good person. "I dunno exactly what they're up to, but wherever you live now, you'll want to move. They won't find out from me, but I'm probably not the only one tailin' you. They'll know a lot about you, they just wanted me to find out any extra details. But whatever they want to know about you, what they do with the information will not be pleasant."

Javert nodded; he had already considered this. "I have already moved, though I have left most of my possessions at my old lodgings, so that if Patron-Minette do come calling there they will not become suspicious because it is empty." He looked down for a moment, and then continued: "I do not know, however, if it still looks lived in. I need a professional eye to assess that. A criminal eye." He was looking at her meaningfully, and she realised he meant her.

"I don't know that I'm a professional, but if you want me to, I guess I could take a look." She felt embarrassed, almost as if she had forced him to show her something.

"Good. Now, there is no point you sitting out here in the cold waiting for me. The house is on the Rue du Villete. I'll meet you there, around evening."

She nodded, and he crossed the street and entered the police post. Eponine stood still for a moment, thinking. Now, she supposed, would be a good time to show Marius where Cosette lived, while she had a few spare hours. She could not quite believe that Javert had told her where he lived, or used to live. It suggested something to her – something like trust. Which, of course, was wrong. Javert would never trust a criminal like her. She started walking towards the Café Musain, where Marius had said he would be.

Marius sat with his friends in the café, still thinking about the girl he had seen the square. Marius had seen beautiful women before, but had never _noticed_ them, as such. But he had noticed this one. His friends were talking animatedly around him, speaking of revolutions and better worlds, but Marius knew that a better world for him needed no revolution, only her.

This thought was still occupying his mind when Eponine walked into the café. She could see the slight smile on his face and knew immediately who he was thinking of. Not her. But that hurt less now. She remained in the doorway, not wanting to attract the attention of the other students in the café. She felt that Marius would not want them to know his secret, and she herself preferred not to come under the gaze of these boys. As if sensing that news of his beloved had arrived, Marius looked towards the door, saw Eponine, and immediately stood up, making his excuses to his friends, and walked towards the door. Eponine turned onto the street, but nevertheless heard a slurring voice cry: "Why, it looks like Marius has finally picked up a mistress. You were very sly about this one, Pontmercy." Marius stopped walking, his fists clenched, but decided not to fan the flame that was Grantaire's imagination, and kept walking.

Eponine stood outside, looking at once dejected and strangely powerful. "I can take you to where she lives. Her name is Cosette, by the way. She lives on the Rue Plumet, though it was dark so I couldn't see the number. Shall we go now?" She said all this in a rush, disconcerted slightly that the boy in the café had thought her to be Marius' mistress. How far from the truth that was.

Marius was still absorbing the information that she had given him, even as he nodded his head. She led him towards the road, both deep in thought, though about different matters.

When they reached the Rue Plumet, Cosette was again in the garden, as Eponine thought she would be. From the moment Marius set eyes on her he had no time for Eponine, not even to thank Eponine. He went immediately to the gate, while Eponine hung back in the shadows as she had done the previous evening. Cosette, however, was expecting to see her there, and once she had clasped Marius' hand through the bars of the gate, she turned to the deepest part of the shadow, where she unerringly knew that Eponine was standing, and said, softly, "Thank you, Eponine. I thought you would like to know that I forgive you, and hope you will forgive me."

Eponine stood still, hardly even breathing. Why was Cosette apologising, unless she knew that she had stolen the man whom Eponine loved, though she could not possibly have known this? She barely trusted herself to speak, but managed to force out a 'Yes' in an even more guttural voice than usual, which seemed to frighten Cosette, used as she was to soft voices and gentle words after living in a convent for so long. Her previous life with the Thenardiers was obviously deeply forgotten. Eponine turned away and started walking, unable to bear the sight of the two people so deeply in mutual love.

Marius' voice followed her, as loud as he dared for fear that Cosette's father would hear: "Thank you, 'Ponine." He wanted to say more, to ask what it was that Cosette had to forgive Eponine for, because they had surely never met before, but that conversation could wait for another time, when his new-found beloved was not by his side. The memory would probably be a painful one for her. Eponine did not hear did not his words. She no longer had Marius' image in her head every second, but one did not recover from such a bout of love, that vicious disease, instantly. Seeing him happy was a strange experience, though a gratifying one. All she wished for now was that she could experience a similar state of happiness, though not necessarily with him.

Evening was approaching; she ought to head towards the Rue du Villete and Javert's house. The trouble was, walking left time for thinking.


	8. Chapter 8 Best made Plans

I think this is about half way done, just to let you know. Thanks for the reviews as well, please keep them coming. Writing gets so much easier with encouragement.

By the time Eponine had reached the Rue du Villete, night had truly fallen, and Javert was already there. She could not see his expression in the shadows, but she would have guessed it was one of disapproval: Javert obviously was not a man to countenance tardiness. Neither spoke as he pushed the door and held it open for Eponine. The last man to do this for her had been Brujon, and while his actions had contained a mocking quality, it seemed a natural action to Javert. She wondered how this had come about: he hardly seemed one for the outward trappings of gallantry. It was not only his face which proclaimed this: his entire manner suggested he was as unused to ballrooms and glittering decorations as she was, yet he seemed to naturally possess chivalrous talents. Still in silence they walked around the spartan home. There were all the objects necessary to life, but not to comfort. There was a bed, for example, but no quilt. Eponine knew poverty, but this was not it; this was austerity. No doubt Javert could afford comforts, but he denied himself because of some quirk in his character, possibly a remnant of his upbringing. The furniture all looked as though it had seen better days, though it was certainly kept painstakingly clean. She went to the desk, expecting to find documents of some kind: arrest certificates or some such administrative paperwork, but it was clear. She realised that Javert would either have taken away all official documents, or maybe he never took them home in the first place.

It could not be seen from Javert's calm exterior, but he was actually quite nervous at having this girl look round his meagre possessions. Never mind that most items of importance had been taken to his new lodgings, there was still enough here to give an insight into his character: an insight he was not sure he wished this gamine to have. She seemed the type who would be able to deduce things he would rather remain hidden. Yet there was no other way to tell if Patron-Minette would be satisfied he was still living here and thus would not become suspicious.

He raised an inquiring eyebrow when Eponine had finished inspecting the sparse rooms. She seemed to think for a moment, and then said "I think they'll still believe you live here, though I can't pretend to understand the mind of my father and his gang. They don't entirely trust me anymore."

Javert accepted this as a reasonable answer, realising that as deep as this child had been involved in the activities of Patron-Minette, she was still only that: a child, and thus unlikely to be in their full confidence. Though he was sure she would not appreciate being thought of as such.

She began to head back to the door of the property, feeling that to stay any longer in this place would be an intrusion. Javert followed her out, and spoke his first words just before she left the building, with a slight smile on his face. "I hope I will not find you tomorrow morning curled in a doorway across the street from here. Have you not discovered that I keep fairly regular hours? It is probably safe to negate tailing me for one night and get some proper sleep. I will, as always, be at the station at a reasonable hour in the morning."

She blushed, again cursing the lack of dirt which would have covered the blood rising to her cheeks. It was true, however, that she was exhausted. Running on adrenaline since she had been released from the infirmary. "Nah, you won't catch me doin' that again. At least, not tonight. I'm gonna see a boy about an elephant." On that cryptic note she walked down the street. Javert too started walking, though in the opposite direction, towards his new lodgings, thinking about bold gamines saying strange things. He could, of course, see the reasons behind his being tailed: it was only natural that Patron-Minette would want a man of his calibre out of the way. He was only surprised such an attempt had not been made before.

After climbing the Elephant, asking Gavroche on the way up if she could steal a few meters of space inside, Eponine fell asleep immediately, the first true sleep she had gotten in days. Her dreams were filled with imaginative possibilities for her meeting with Brujon tomorrow, in which she would be able to give him the false address. She hoped that he would simply except what she had to say and allow her to go back to tailing Javert, though for his protection now rather than to gather any more information on him. She had barely seen him since her release from hospital: he was simply too good at disappearing.

Once Gavroche had left the next morning to do whatever it was gamins did during the day, Eponine stayed inside the Elephant, thinking. She wanted to plan what she was going to say to Brujon; it had to be just enough to be believable, but not enough that it endangered Javert. And yet she could not give too much wrong information or she would feel the consequences. Patron-Minette was ruthless about getting reliable information, even from its own members.

She remained within the Elephant for much of the day, enjoying the warmth and relative comfort of the structure as compared with a doorway, or even the Thenardier residence. Finally, she could put off going to Brujon no longer, and she headed through the streets to his lair. If she could, she would be miles away from here. She wanted nothing more to do with this gang but knew that she was irrevocably tied to them through blood. It has already been shown that in most cases poverty is hereditary; Eponine was beginning to think that criminality was too. She wanted to be the one to break the link, to prevent her own children, should she have any, from having the life she did, and the only way she could think of to do this was to leave the gang, leave Paris, and hope that life was kinder in the country. Perhaps she would have to do that soon anyway, if Patron-Minette became too impatient about finding out information about the elusive Inspector Javert.

She was about to enter when a hand was laid on her shoulder from behind. She had half been expecting it, and so just waited until the owner of the hand came to stand in front of her. She had expected it to be Brujon, but instead it was her father. This was almost worse than Brujon: he knew her better, and may be able to see she was lying, or perhaps, hopefully, he would just think she was incompetent.

"So, you found out anythin' yet, or…" Her father trailed off, the implicated threat heavy in his voice. She nodded, and he an incredulous look slipped over his face. It seemed that he had indeed wished his daughter to fail her assignment, though for what reason she was not sure. "Well?"

"He lives on the Rue -------, alone, but I guess you already know that." Eponine managed to get the vital information out before she lost her nerve. That said, she continued with some less interesting information: "There is no 'Gentleman's Club' that he visits, so he's likely either to be at home or at his station, when not on patrolling duty."

"So he has not moved. He does not suspect anythin'. That's good. Gives us the element of surprise."

Eponine's blood ran cold when she heard this. She had always thought that was just a saying, but she actually felt the effect of the adrenaline rushing into her veins, which felt like cold fire. She looked expectantly at her father, urging him to continue, praying that he would contradict the conclusion that her mind was racing to, but he said no more, perhaps suspecting that he could not trust her. Fortunately, Brujon arrived at that point, and he was not as suspicious of her as her father was, and so he felt free to say "Have we got enough information to get rid of Javert yet? The sooner it's done the better."

Thenardier sent a glare in Brujon's direction, and he stopped talking, but the damage had already been done. Eponine now wanted nothing more than to leave this place, warn Javert and escape Paris forever, but from the expression on her father's face she did not think it would be that easy. They would not risk even the slightest chance that she might turn traitor on them, so Thenardier did not look in the least remorseful as he hit his daughter on the back of the head as she backed away and tried to run from the building. She did not make a sound as she crumpled to the floor, her eyes rolled up into the back of her head/ "Leave her in the back room, get everyone together and we'll begin." He said to Brujon, talking in a low voice which disguised his growing excitement: tonight, Patron-Minette's most formidable enemy would be removed. It was a shame that Eponine may also need to be removed, but Thenardier was too far gone in planning Javert's downfall to trouble his conscience about a useless girl such as his eldest daughter.

It would be a long night of planning before his dream would be realised, for he did not want to face Javert unprepared. It was well known that Javert had the devil's own luck and the ability to escape from seemingly impossible situations and arrest all those responsible to boot. And anyway, it would be better to attack early in the morning, when his prey's defences would be at they're weakest.


	9. Chapter 9 Running Wounded

Groggily, Eponine came back to consciousness, and she had barely registered where she was when she tried to spring to her feet. Despite all her efforts, a human life was in peril because of her actions. She tried to take comfort in the fact that Javert was probably not in his old house, which was the only address which Patron-Minette knew, but she could not shake the feeling that he was still there. Whatever the truth was, it would be best for her, personally, to get out of Brujon's lair, for doubtless her father would not be happy if he found out that the Javert residence was uninhabited. Who knew what he would do when he returned here after a failed attempt. Eponine certainly did not want to know.

She had barely taken a few steps when she stumbled. The back of her head had taken a savage beating these past weeks, what with the actions of Montparnasse and now her father. 'Alright, 'Ponine, take it slowly" she thought, while her head pounded beneath her fingertips, yet she knew she had very little time. She walked towards the window, wondering if she could break the glass and escape before Patron-Minette could react. This idea seemed to have a certain amount of merit, if she could work out how to do it quietly. Luckily, the room she was in was on the ground floor: she would not need to make an impossible scramble down the wall outside. She debated the method of breaking the glass: should she do it quickly and escape immediately, or should she try to muffle the sound and do it quietly and hope her father and his gang did not notice. She had nothing to muffle the sound with, so she decided the simplest option was better. It was best if she wasted no more time: she could not tell how long she had been unconscious, and although she could still hear voices from next door, from the little she could hear distinctly they seemed to be making the final preparations to storm Javert's house. It sounded like her father's voice saying "No guns. This will be knife-work… we don't want to be heard". She must have been unconscious for several hours for them to get to such an advanced stage intheir planning.

She had nothing to break the glass with except her hand and she cut her forearm as her fist knocked through the glass, but she ignored it as she heard the shouts from the room next door. She hurriedly pushed the remains of the glass out and climbed over the frame, dropping outside with something less than her usual street-learned gracefulness. She started to run and she could hear the door being hit as whoever was trying to open it in forgot in their rush that it had been locked. Ironic that the device that should have imprisoned her in fact aided her escape. She rounded the corner as she heard another shout, but the words were indistinct and she kept on running. All that her mind was concerned with at the moment was putting as much distance between herself and Patron-Minette as she could, and warning Javert before it was too late.

As fervently as she had wished before that he was not at his old house, she now wished he was, for else she would never find him. She was past thinking rationally: the thought that if he was not there then Patron-Minette would not know where he was either did not occur to her. The pain at the back of her head had not alleviated, and the cut on her arm was still dripping, but she forced herself to further efforts, bare feet dodging puddles on the pavement, but she did not have to worry about running into people, such was the late hour.

When she finally turned onto the road where Javert had used to live, she felt a surge of relief to see that there was a light in the window of the place where he lived, but this turned to fear when she realised that Patron-Minette would find them if they lingered here too long. She did not know how close behind her Patron-Minette was, but she knew she had no time for the social niceties. She pounded his door, hoping to find it unlocked, but of course that was an unrealistic hope. Nevertheless, it was only a matter of seconds before Javert stood in front of her, fully dressed despite the time, a scowl of annoyance flitting across his features, but mingled with something else: possibly amusement at her obvious hurry, perhaps concern as he took a closer look and noticed her injuries. He went to lead her inside, but she stopped him; her message was too urgent to waste seconds in going indoors.

"They are comin'. Now. You've got to leave. Why are you even still here?" Eponine garbled her words in a rush, but thankfully Javert seemed to understand the muttered message, for he stiffened and looked beyond her into the street. Or it could have been that he noticed the shadows creeping slowly towards his doorway. Eponine turned also, and found herself staring into her father's eyes. There was a look of such menace on his face that it was all she could do not to run and hide behind Javert. She evidently had not run as fast as she had thought she had, though this was hardly surprising, given her injuries.

The rest of Patron-Minette quickly came into focus; Babet, Claquesous, Gueulemer, Brujon (drafted in as a replacement for the imprisoned Montparnasse). But it was Thenardier who trapped Eponine's gaze, even though he was now no longer looking at her, but rather at Javert, with an oddly hungry look on his face. Eponine realised he had been planning this moment for a long time. She had had no idea that this enmity between Javert and her father went so deep: it was almost personal hatred on Thenardier's part, possibly because Javert was the antithesis of everything Thenardier stood for, and had spoiled so many of Thenardier's well-laid plans. She had no idea how she and Javert were going to get out of this now. Javert, however, appeared to have a plan, for he was almost smiling, though in a feral, dangerous way.

He stepped forward, and Patron-Minette did also, until there was hardly any distance between them. Turning to each of them slowly, Javert said, "So, it has come to this at last. I had been wondering when you would decide to act. A few days earlier and you may have caught me unprepared, but now, alas…" He trailed off, for he had only been talking to cover the arrival of his junior police officers, who now had Patron-Minette surrounded. One of the officers looked familiar to Eponine: he had been there on the street where the failed robbery of the cart had taken place, when she had first been tasked to tail Javert. Javert had been mentoring him then, and it seemed it was still Javert who was giving orders here.

As Thenardier took in the reality of how his plan had back-fired, he let out a howl of fury; yet again Javert had proved that he lived a charmed existence. He threw himself at Javert, his knife raised. He knew it would do him personally little good, as he was surrounded by police with no way of escape, but his hatred caused him to take leave of his senses, and he clearly felt that if he could take his enemy with him, it would be worth it. His blade connected with flesh, but in his anger Thenardier could not see what part of Javert he had hit. He simply left the knife where it was and rained blows on the man with his fists, not an easy task considering he was head shorter than Javert. Javert did not stagger back as a lesser man would have done, but instead twisted away, and as Thenardier made to follow Eponine tripped him. He fell heavily and immediately two police officers were on him. They dragged him away, following the other officers who held the other members of Patron-Minette, who unlike Thenardier were not struggling – they seemed to accept the fact that Javert's charmed life had once again saved him.

As her father was dragged away, Eponine heard him shout to her "You traitor! Goin' against your family. You're nothing but a nark, an' no daughter o' mine." It hurt her to hear the words, but not as much as it should have done. She could not help thinking that she had stopped being his daughter a long time ago, and she supposed it was true that she was a nark – she had informed Javert of her father's plan, after all. It was just not the way she wanted to be labelled. Maybe she was naïve to believe that life would be better without her father and his gang on the streets of Paris, but that was, nevertheless, how she felt. Only time would tell if her belief was misplaced.

She had not seen her father wielding the knife, and looked around for Javert, expecting to see him telling the younger officers his orders. She did not expect him to be leaning against a wall, his face suddenly pale under the weathered skin. She wanted to shout to one of the other officers, but they had already noticed that their commander was not in his usual place, leading from the front, and a man had run back. He caught sight of Eponine, whom none of the other officers had seen, and shouted to his fellows, "Here's another one! Hiding in the shadows." Who exactly he had thought Thenardier's last words were aimed at if not Eponine was unclear, but the confusion of the scene must have contributed to the fact that she had not been noticed. Of course, it was also dark and she blended in with the shadows. Or she had done.

Another man ran back, seized Eponine by the shoulders and began to drag her towards the rest of the captured criminals. They seemed to have forgotten that Javert was injured, or even present, for it was only his voice, hoarser and even deeper than usual, that stopped them. "Leave her. She is not one of them." He stayed where he was, unwilling to move, or unable. The officer let go of Eponine and hurried over to him. She followed, and saw the hilt of her father's knife lodged in Javert's right shoulder. The younger officer made to pull it out, but Javert shook his head. "Leave it where it is. I do not think it hit a major artery, but let's not find out here." He looked almost amused for a moment, then he shook his head again, trying to clear it, and started issuing orders: "Gauthier, take them to the nearest police post. See that everything is properly administrated. There can be no mistakes with these criminals."

Here he had to stifle a groan, and Eponine quickly spoke up. "There is a hospital near here, the Hotel-Dieu de Paris. You should take Monsieur L'inspecteur there." The police officers looked at her in surprise, wondering at the daring of this gamine to offer her advice to the police, but Javert nodded.

"Indeed. I remember. It is only a few streets from here." Eponine started to walk away, but Javert's voice stopped her. "You are coming too. Do not think that I've forgotten your injuries." He tried to push himself off the wall, but his right arm could not move, and so the movement was more of a jerk and he fell back with another groan. One of the officers stepped forward, and pulled Javert, surprisingly gently, away from the wall and supported him with his shoulder. It was obvious from these few moments of interaction that those under Javert's command felt a high level of respect for their commander, yet there seemed to be no friendliness other than concern for a wounded comrade. He obviously ruled his subordinates with an iron fist, but a fair one. Javert disengaged the officer's hands and tried to walk unaided, but only managed a few steps before he staggered and had to be caught. After that he accepted the help of his officer without complaint, and while Patron-Minette was led away under the command of the officer named Gauthier, Javert, Eponine and the other officer walked slowly towards the Hotel-Dieu de Paris.

Here's another instalment. I'm kinda worried about the lack/forced quality of the dialogue here: it seems to be mostly description. Would you let me know if this is o.k. or not? Also, this is the first semi-action scene I've ever written. So be nice. Please.


	10. Chapter 10 Complications

When the three people walked or staggered into the hospital there was an immediate flurry of activity. The nuns flocked around Javert, though not in a disorganised fashion, but more in the way of purposed hurry. Eponine stepped backwards, away from the press of people, but a familiar face caught her eye. As though she felt Eponine's gaze, Sister Marie-Camille turned towards the girl, and immediately left the group of nuns who were leading Javert towards a separate room. He was still walking erect, but there were deeper lines of pain and weariness on his face than had been there an hour earlier. The nun saw where Eponine was staring, and hurried to reassure the girl. "That is the surgery room, mademoiselle. From what I could see, the knife was not lodged anywhere fatal. I am sure Monsieur L'inspecteur will be fine. Now, I shall see to you." She looked over Eponine with an experienced medical gaze, taking in the bleeding on her forearm and the back of her head. The nun almost tutted. It was the second time in as many weeks that this girl came here with a head injury.

The Sister led Eponine over to a bed and examined her head injury more closely. It was a few centimetres higher than the one from the week before, and looked more serious, though the dried blood around it suggested it was several hours old at least. She turned her attention to the cut on the girl's arm, which was not too deep. She bandaged both injuries, but all the while Eponine was staring in the direction of the door Javert had vanished through, as though hoping to see him emerge from it any second. No such thing happened.

"Stop your worrying. As I said, he will be fine." The nun's voice intruded on Eponine's thoughts. "If you want, I will try and find out how he is doing, though of course I cannot interrupt if they are in the middle of surgery."

Eponine nodded her thanks, wondering when she had begun to care so deeply about what happened to Javert. She could not come up with a satisfactory answer; maybe it was because she suddenly cared about what happened to everyone. Spending time with idealistic students will do that to you. Funnily enough she could now think of Marius without the pang in her stomach that she usually felt.

As the nun walked away, Eponine curled up on the bed she had been led to. In the week since she had last been here the good work of the nuns had mostly been erased: Eponine was dirty again, her hair not quite as unkempt as before, but slowly getting there, and any weight she had put on was lost. Of course, she could not see this herself, having not seen a mirror for much of her life, but she could feel it. She once again looked like the ragged street gamine she was. As strange an experience as it had been, she had enjoyed being clean; it gave one more self-respect, something Eponine desperately needed.

As Eponine drifted into sleep, she could see Sister Marie-Camille coming back towards her bed, smiling and nodding her head.

Javert, as he was led into the surgery room, was starting to feel the effect of his wound. Up until now he had been somewhat in a state of shock, and his professional pride had been what was holding him upright. The dregs of that still remained, but his energy was wearing down fast. He was leaning more and more heavily on the police officer beside him, and when he finally was directed to bed he knew he could not have remained upright for much longer. Nuns were still hurrying around and preparing for the procedure which he knew must follow. Extracting the knife, and, if it had hit a vital blood vessel, cauterising the wound. This was what Javert feared the most: he remembered, as young officer, being caught on the wrong side of the blade of an escaping prisoner at Toulon. The knife had nicked his femoral artery, and emergency cauterisation had had to be performed by the none-too competent prison doctor. He still carried the scar, and the memories.

Javert was not an easy man to scare, but this scared him. He was led to a bed and his clothes were cut away from the wound site. Every small movement jostled the knife, and Javert's olive skin went progressively paler. Finally, the nuns/nurses were ready to begin the process of removing the knife. By this point Javert had, thankfully, lost consciousness from blood loss.

Leveque, the officer who had half-led, half-carried Javert to the hospital, was worried about his superior officer. He had always been eccentric, and seemed to possess a sixth sense for locating trouble, but he had become even stranger in the last few weeks. First he had abruptly moved house, then spent less time in the station and more time patrolling the streets. It was almost as if he was trying to throw off a pursuer. His orders too had become stranger, up until the one he had given last night: to surround his house and await the arrival of Patron-Minette.

Leveque could see now that this had been leading up to the confrontation with this gang, but he what he could not tell was how the girl asleep on the bed in the corner was involved, or how Javert had known the precise time when Patron-Minette would be coming for him. Javert was not normally a man whom his subordinates were allowed to question, but now, if ever, Leveque felt, circumstances warranted it. Not immediately however; it was hard, after all, to question an unconscious man.

When Javert awoke, he sensed someone sitting beside him. He tried to struggle into an upright position, and though it hurt his shoulder abominably he managed it, though this immediately attracted the attention of one of the nuns. She hurried over and tried to persuade him to lie back down, which was obviously a battle already lost. Javert turned to his left, though he had a good enough idea of who it was sitting next to him. Sure enough, Eponine came into his field of vision, sitting on a hard chair, her head resting on her hand, staring into the middle distance. She did not even seem aware that he was awake, and not even the nun's bustling around had shaken her from her reverie. This surely was unusual: a gamine would have their senses alert at all times.

She had been cleaned up again, he noticed, and bandages applied to her head and arm. She looked tired; her cheeks were gaunt and there were deep bags under her eyes, but her expression suggested that some deep thinking was going on. He was loath to interrupt her thoughts, but he wanted to know, without having to deal with the hovering of a nun, how long he had been unconscious, and more importantly, if he could have some water.

Thankfully, he did not have to disrupt her thoughts: she did so herself. She suddenly came back to herself, shaking into full consciousness again. She looked at where he was propped up and a look of surprise spread over her face. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, then sat still as he asked "What time is it?" His voice was hoarse, and his olive colour still had not come back fully.

Eponine stood up, walked away, and came back moments later with water. She handed it to him, and replied: "It's evenin'. I don't know when, exactly. They were expectin' you to be asleep for hours yet. Guess they underestimated you."

"Hmm." He nodded, and then asked, "And what about yourself? Should you not be resting also?" He looked disapproving and slightly angry that she is seemingly allowed to wander round, while he has to fight with the nuns just to sit up right.

"Should be, but I'm not the one who had a knife in my chest, am I." She almost smiled, but then remembered the message she was to give. "The other officer, Leveque or summat, told me to let you know that… they have been safely taken to prison. No problems or anythin'. He had to go, there's a riot someplace in the city."

Immediately, she knew she should not have revealed that particular piece of information, as Javert was suddenly not content with sitting up right, but actually tried to move off the bed and stand. Eponine could see that this was excruciatingly painful, as the little colour Javert had regained was swiftly lost again. He succeeded in getting his legs off the bed and onto the ground before Eponine could stop him. He was only half dressed; his shirt and coat had been taken away by the nuns, condemned as 'unrepairable'. It was only this that prevented him making a swift exit; as he stared down at himself in surprise Eponine was able to gently push him back down onto the bed, avoiding his injured shoulder and the other bruises on his chest that he had received from Thenardier's blows. Normally it would have been impossible for the slight gamine to move the tall man, but knife wounds tend to make one weaker. Not that Eponine was not strong, but her strength was of a more flexible kind. She was a willow to Javert's oak.

As soon as Javert was sitting down, Eponine removed her hand quickly. She felt that she had no right to touch this man, as up-right and moral as he was. After all, the last touch from a member of her family had been a knife blow. She felt sullied, tainted by association.

The sudden movement had caught the attention of a nun, who hurried over. "Monsieur, you should not even be awake, let alone attempting to leave. I must insist that you lie back down. Your wound may become inflamed if you over-exert yourself."

Javert lay back down, but immediately turned to Eponine, his eyes demanding that she explained her last sentence.

"He didn't say much, just that there was trouble across the city and summat about General Lemarque. He was in a hurry."

Javert groaned, because of the pain and because of the lack of information. He should be out there, preventing whatever trouble was happening, not caged in this hospital. Yet his rational mind knew he was not strong enough to play an active part in the events which were taken place. But who said that Javert was always a rational man? His almost personal vendetta against Valjean was not rational, yet he had pursued it, and was still. There were worse criminals out there than Valjean, and Javert knew that, yet his mind was fixated on this one wrong-doer.

He turned back to the nun. "When will I be able to leave?"

"A week, probably longer, Monsieur."

Javert nodded, and looked away. The gesture was obviously one of dismissal so the nun turned on her heel and walked away, towards more cooperative patients.

Once she was gone, Javert turned back to Eponine, who noticed a gleam in his eyes, almost as if he was an excited child. He seemed to harbour no grudge against her for her father's actions or for her own in being unable to warn him earlier.


	11. Chapter 11 Let the Revolution begin

We're heading back into more familiar territory here, but not for long. The alternate universe will soon re-emerge. Let me know what you think.

"I'll need a shirt and coat before we try anything. Can you get me one?" Javert was obviously worried about his modesty in being seen without a shirt. Eponine nodded to his request, the easiest one he had made that night. It would be easy to get them. She was allowed to leave the hospital if she chose, and Javert's old house was not far away. She remembered the wardrobe from when she had looked around. It contained few items but what was there was neatly folded. She nodded again and got up to leave. Before she could move Javert continued, "I know you are doing this against your better judgment. Thank you." Eponine nodded a third time; her voice seemingly vanished by his words. She walked out of the hospital, her feet taking her automatically to Javert's house while her thoughts were busy. It had obviously cost him to thank her. He was not a man used to having to rely on others, despite his years in the police force.

The streets were safer now, she knew, since the arrest of Patron-Minette, but she still subconsciously hurried, eager to get back, perhaps, to the warmth of the hospital.

As she entered the house, she was shocked to see the debris of what looked like robbery inside. What little furniture Javert owned was overturned, papers and clothes scattered across the floor. Eponine did not stop to look round, but picked up the closest items of clothing and ran back to the hospital.

Javert did not seem unduly surprised that his house had been riffled. "A man like me makes enemies quicker than you can blink. No doubt someone took advantage of my indisposition to get some form of revenge. Not that they would have found much of worth."

He slipped slowly into the clothes, and settled down to wait. They had agreed that they would put their plan into practice near morning, and so Eponine too took herself back to her bed and lay down. There were going to, quite simply, walk out, but if there were any complications Eponine would distract the nuns while Javert made his exit.

Neither one slept well, and both woke earlier than they expected. Looking round, Eponine could see no sign of the nuns, and so she walked softly over to Javert's bed. He was laying quite still, eyes open and gazing at the ceiling. When he noticed her approach he sat up, looked around, and nodded to her. It was a good time to go.

Eponine could not believe it would be so simple, and as they walked through the door she could not quite believe their luck, though it was not like they were escaping from prison, she thought, just a hospital. How hard could it really be? It was supposed to be a good thing to leave hospital: the nuns were not going to make it harder for patients to leave.

As they walked through the quiet streets of Paris, surrounded by a soft patter of rain, Eponine reflected how different these last weeks would have been had her father not sent her to spy on Javert. Her father would still be at large; she would probably still be trailing after Marius, for she had realised that the comparison between Marius and Javert had gone some way in diminishing her obsession: Marius was little more than a boy; an intelligent one, but a boy none the less, and one who, moreover, seemed unable to stay doing one thing for long: he had given up his studies as a lawyer, he did not seem overly dedicated to whatever it was the attractive boy at the Café Musain was planning. Javert on the other hand, was mature, and obviously dedicated: so many years in the police force proved that, if nothing else. Eponine knew she did not feel the same way about Javert as she did about Marius. It was respect, not romantic obsession. It was healthier, for both involved.

They both stopped walking when they heard raised voices from a street to their left. A large crown filled the street, all wearing the same colours of black and red. They were walking in the opposite direction, though where they were going neither knew. Javert, spotting a red scarf on the ground a little way away, stooped and quickly tied it round his waist.

Eponine could see what Javert was planning to do, and put a hand out to stop him. She could not believe that if he went into that crowd he would not be recognised and shot as a spy. He read as much in her eyes, and said quietly: "You knew I would do this once I left the hospital. You helped me then. Why are you not letting me do my job now? But you, you must go. You cannot get caught up in this." Not waiting for a reply he nodded his thanks to her, and made his way over to the back of the crowd. He immediately blended in with the men around him. Eponine stood staring after him and the crowd, determined to find a way to follow him but knew she would stand out in her women's clothes. She followed the crowd at a careful distance, hoping to pick up some men's clothes somehow and join them. She could see Marius among them, and the other students she had seen at the café. Her brother was there also, flitting along with these boys. 'Gavroche,' she thought, 'what are you doing?' The presence of her brother, of course, settled the matter. She would have to become involved. God knew what he would do if she didn't. Go and get himself killed, no doubt.

Eponine continued to sneak behind the crowd, which was growing ever larger. She should be able to disappear within it with ease. She noticed a washing line left out by some industrious housewife and hurried over to it. The shirt and trousers she found were too large, but at least she would not look out of place in the mob. She kept her face turned away from anyone who might recognise her. While the barricade was being erected she kept out of the way, merely watching those who mattered to her: Javert, who was surreptitiously emptying his musket of its ammunition and powder; Gavroche, who was running around getting under people's feet; Marius, deeply involved in the placing of a cart on the barricade.

She noticed that the other students looked excited, but nervous, all except for their leader. He looked cool and collected, even though he had the lives of all these people in his hands. His detachment was frightening to witness, so Eponine turned away. Gavroche was still making a nuisance out of himself, but the shooting had not yet started. She remembered the events of two years previous, when Charles X was overthrown. She had not felt very interested in politics then, and nor was she now, except that it threatened her life and those she cared for.

She could see Marius talking with her brother, who had an annoyed expression on his face. When he ran off, away from the slowly growing barricade, she almost felt that she too could escape, yet at that moment her eyes met Javert's, and she knew she could not leave. Trying to protect him from her father and getting Patron-Minette arrested had created a bond. And besides, she did not know how long Gavroche was going to stay away. He looked angry that she had not obeyed his orders, but a look of resignation came over his face when he realised he could not tell her to leave without exposing himself. Making a scene could be fatal for both of them. He looked away, and continued talking softly to the men he was with.

When the rain started Eponine took shelter in the café, as did the students and Javert. He was very good at his job, Eponine knew that, but the way he blended in and seemed not to be listening to the plans of the students, despite the fact that Eponine knew he must have been listening intently was disturbing to watch. How many times had he done this: listening in on the plans of petty criminals? But these boys were not criminals: they were just idealistic dreamers for the most part, hoping for a better world. Surely he would not proceed in the same manner he would with a street gang? Though Eponine would not put it passed him. She knew he was ruthless in pursuit of what he believed to be right.

Darkness was beginning to fall when Gavroche entered the café. Eponine's heart fell: she had hoped that whatever errand Marius had sent him on would keep him away from the fighting. Evidently Marius had hoped so too, for his face fell when he caught sight of Gavroche. Eponine wondered why he cared what happened to a gamin.

To her horror, Gavroche caught sight of Javert at that moment, and immediately proceeded to denounce him. If Gavroche had seen Eponine shaking her head frantically at him, he ignored her. Javert was immediately bound to a post in the café, and though he could see Eponine practically begging him with her eyes to lie to the students he knew he could not do so. She wanted him to make up some story that would show his innocence, but it would be a lie. As long as he had not been challenged he was willing to deceive these boys, but once his status as a police officer was known he would not do so, for that would drag the law into disrepute. The knots he was bound with were tight; not cruelly so, but enough that he knew he would not escape on his own. Yet he would not ask Eponine to help, for that would put her in greater danger. He knew the only reason she was here was for her brother, for he had seen them together in a street robbery on the day she had started to tail him, and he would not increase the danger she was in merely to save his own life.

For her part, Eponine could not bare to watch. She heard the student's words; that Javert would be shot when they could spare the ammunition. Once Javert had been tied up and left alone she inched her way over to him, hoping that she would be able to surreptitiously untie him. At that point, however, the shooting started, making her plan a little easier to execute. All the students and their followers rushed out, leaving her alone with Javert. Their leader, Enjorlas, going by the name she heard shouted at him, paused at the door and spoke to Eponine, obviously still under the impression that she was a boy. "Get your courage together and then come out. We will need everyone we've got it we're to last the night." He turned and left.

Eponine's pride spoke out at being thought to be a coward, but she knew she must take advantage of the situation quickly. As she moved over to Javert, however, he spoke before she could: "You must not release me. Especially not since that boy has seen us alone down here. They will know you are responsible. You must go out there and leave as safely and quickly as you can. But do not get caught leaving, or they will probably tie you up next to me, or shoot you on the spot.

Eponine did not know how to reply to such a statement, but Javert's push with his bound hands sent her towards the door. The last she saw of him that night was a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness of the room as the door closed with the wind.


	12. Chapter 12 The Foot of the Barricade

Sorry about the epic delay: university essays, unfortunately, took precedence.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once Eponine had left, Javert worked on the knots, hoping to loosen them, but to no avail. He wondered if he could talk his way out of the situation: he knew, after all, why he was to be shot when they could easily have saved the ammunition and stabbed him. It was easier to shoot a man that to stab one. It could be done from a distance, without having to look into the victim's eyes.

He hoped Eponine was doing as he had told her and getting out of there, but knew realistically that there was little chance of that. She was too reckless, and too involved now, he knew. She would want to stay for her little brother in any case. He was unsure as to how exactly she had become so involved with him in the last weeks. Any self-respecting gamine would not have risked their life to save his. He was a police officer after all, the enemy. Eponine certainly was no ordinary gamine, and he was no ordinary police officer. In that respect they were well matched.

Turning his thoughts back to the dilemma in front of him, he could see no possible way out, even if he could get loose. The café had only one entrance which led to the street behind the barricade. He would certainly be seen if he attempted to leave that way. The only possibility, it seemed, was to wait and see if they forgot about him, or ran out of ammunition faster than they had anticipated. He did not think they would be callous enough to stab him in cold blood.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eponine clambered up the barricade and saw the beginnings of a movement towards them from where the government troops were situated. She ducked back down and signalled their approach with a whistle. Immediately there was a flurry of activity on the side of the revolutionaries as muskets were raised and orders shouted. Eponine looked through a crack in the barricade, and saw the troops making steady progress towards their position despite the fire they were coming under. She could do nothing to support the cause she had inadvertently found herself following: she had no gun or any other weapon, and even if she did she felt she would be unable to use it.

She looked around furtively, hoping to see Marius without catching his eye, and there he stood on the highest point of the barricade, methodically reloading his musket and seemingly careless of his own safety. When Eponine had last seen him, he had not seemed so deeply involved in the revolution that the students had been planning, but now he seemed as deeply embroiled as Enjorlas. She saw the look in his eyes, and thought she knew the reason why he looked as he did. Cosette. Something had happened between them, or not happened, and now he had that look in his eyes. She knew it well, as it had been in her own for too long. Whatever had happened he now seemed desperate to die, for why else was he so senselessly drawing the fire of their opponents?

For they were close now, the government troops. Some were scaling the barricade, other providing them with covering fire, and as the first men reached the top there were shouts of alarm from the students and their followers. Marius still stood on the top of the barricade, fighting with a tall, uniformed man. The soldier had the advantage of the longer reach, but Marius was quick, and the man fell back. As he did so, the other soldiers seemed to miraculously disappear as well, either falling to the students' weapons or vanishing over the barricade as they were pressed back. Eponine, however, saw one of the few remaining government soldiers straighten up and raise his musket. He aimed at Marius, taking him to be the leader of the revolutionaries because of the zeal with which he had fought. As he was about to pull the trigger Eponine knew she could do nothing: she was too far away, and had no weapon. Except a good throwing arm and a stone.

She bent quickly, picked up the stone and saw that the man was still aiming his weapon. She threw it hard and fast, and watched as the man doubled up as the stone connected with his stomach. He was quickly overwhelmed by the other revolutionaries and lay dead, sprawled across the barricade. Eponine gradually tore her eyes away from the man she had indirectly killed and looked towards the man she had saved. Marius was looking at her and she could tell that, despite her disguise, he recognised her. He made his way towards her, and though she no longer loved him with the intensity she had done, she could not move. She knew she should, that he would send her away from here and she would no longer be able to protect her brother, or rescue Javert. He stopped beside her and looked at her hard, seeming to inject all his disapproval into his glance. He opened his mouth, probably to reprove her for her recklessness, but Eponine spoke first: "Before you tell me that I shouldn't be here, do you really think you should? I've as much right to be here as you, more, probably, 'cause I don't have anyone waiting for me, while you do. Why have you left Cosette?"

A flicker crossed over his face: not quite anger, a large amount of pain. "I did not leave her; she left me. Gone to England." He sounded desolate, but then he seemed to remember something. "But she has not gone yet. Gavroche, your brother, I think, gave her a message. She may still be here." All the animosity and zeal seemed to leak out of him as he remembered. He did not want to fight, but he was too involved now, and could not break his promise to Enjorlas. But he could, at least, he thought, save this brave and reckless girl from suffering the same fate as the revolutionaries would, if overcome.

"You should go, Eponine. You are no idealist, and certainly no fool. There is nothing for you here. Take your brother and try to find a way out."

Eponine shook her head, brazenly. "You tried to send my brother away once, an' he just came back, didn't he. An' the same would just happen again. You may as well let us stay. An' besides, there's no way out now: you know we're surrounded."

Marius nodded dumbly and turned away, again looking to the pitiful defences. He could do nothing more for the girl: if she would not take his advice, he would not force her. The lull in the fighting was oddly soothing, but there was still more to be done to prepare for the next attack. Marius knew that Eponine was right, and that there was no way out nor for the revolutionaries, yet still he harboured a plan to get at least a few out: he was still wearing the military coat of one of the fallen soldiers, and he hoped to find someone who would wear it and so escape.

He told his plan to Enjorlas, who endorsed it, and so the lives of 5 men, in the end, were saved. Marius stood gazing at the man who had given his coat at the last minute: Cosette's father. How could he allow his love's father to die on this barricade? If she lost both of them it would more than likely destroy her. Yet he could do nothing to persuade him. The man did not look at him, as if he did not recognise him, and Marius was reluctant to refresh his memory.

The crowd dispersed, and the lucky few found ways to escape. The remainder kept glancing over the barricade, afraid of what they might see. Eponine wandered around, avoiding Marius, her brother, and the man whom she knew to be Cosette's rescuer from so long ago. It was the waiting she found most terrifying: the imagination could run wild, and hers did. She approved of Marius' idea to save as many men with families as they could, and knew that she should have taken one of the coats herself, yet she could not do so, for three good reasons: Gavroche, Marius and Javert, who was, she knew, still tied to a post in the café. Finally, however, the alarm was raised again, as the government's troops massed for another attack. It was Gavroche who shouted, his voice as yet unbroken and yet he was here, on a barricade, preparing to fight. Marius stood on the left of the barricade, Enjorlas on the right, and Valjean between them. He was not holding a gun, Eponine noticed, and she wondered how he expected to defend himself without a weapon, and why he was even here. Maybe, she though, for the same reason I am: to protect Marius.

Before she could think anymore, the barricade was peppered with bullets. She ducked behind it, feeling the wood around her shatter and splinters fly. She was lucky not to be hit by them, as others were. By the time she dared to look above the barricade again the soldiers were close, close enough to see the whites of their eyes. Some were climbing, making their way up the barricade slowly but surely. On his end Marius encountered the first to make it all the way up. He had just fired his musket, and the soldier had not. Eponine knew this, and looked around for a stone, or anything, to throw, but this time fate was working against her. She climbed across the barricade, racing time, and flung her hand in front of the muzzle of the gun. It fired, flinging her backwards off the barricade onto the street. She lay among the fallen government troops, unable to call up to the revolutionaries on the barricade. There was no pain for a moment, and when the pain came she shied away from it, preferring the peace of unconsciousness. Her body lay at the foot of the barricade, unnoticed by either side, not even by the man she had saved.


	13. Chapter 13 Javert's Dilemma

Try as he might, Javert could not think of a way out of the situation he was in. The ropes binding him were simply too tight, and there were far too many revolutionaries outside for him to hope to slip away unnoticed. Most had witnessed the scene in the café between him and Enjorlas, and would call the alarm if they noticed him escaping. Or simply shoot him on the spot, which was the more likely course of events. There was nothing for him to do except wait for the inevitable defeat of the revolutionaries.

Or that was what he had been thinking, until a figure opened the door to the café. A solid figure, too sturdy to be any of the students he had seen before. The figure stopped in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight outside, as if reluctant to enter. He has probably been given orders to kill me, though Javert. The fight must be going badly already. Then the man took a step forward, and Javert knew he had been wrong. The man was not ordered here to kill him. He needed no orders; for him it would in fact be a pleasure. He had probably begged for the right. The man was Valjean.

Javert lifted his chin further, looking the man directly in the eyes. Valjean looked back, calmly. Javert would have thought he would be ecstatic to have his nemesis so utterly at his mercy, but instead he looked merely sad. Calm, but sad. Javert did not know that Valjean did not consider him his enemy, not any more. Yet Valjean's next action did not show this, as he drew a knife from his pocket. Javert did not flinch away from the knife as a lesser man would have done, he merely continued looking at Valjean, and finally spoke. "So, none of the brave revolutionaries could bear to come and kill me in cold blood. For once, they sent a man to do a man's work. They were going to shoot me: what a waste of ammunition. But I see you have no such compunction about getting your hands dirty, as they did."

Valjean merely shook his head, still looking sad. He lowered the knife to the bonds which bound Javert to the post, and sawed through them. He left Javert's hands tied, but unbound his feet. Javert remained where he was, as if the bonds had not been removed, thinking that maybe Valjean had removed them so the knife would not snag on them when he stabbed him, but Valjean made no move to do so. Both men stared at each other for a long moment, the tense silence stretching between them until Valjean spoke, for the first time since entering the room. His voice was tight with a restrained emotion that Javert took for anger, but which was in fact pity. "Get up."

Javert stood, resisting the urge to blink in surprise. This ex-convict must not realise that his actions stupefied the inspector. Valjean was acting as if he meant to let him go. Javert could not fathom it. The police officer looked down at the man beside him, trying to discern his motives. He had never thought of Valjean as a cruel man. Outside of the law, certainly, but not sadistic, and yet the only reason that Javert could see for the man's actions was that he wanted to let Javert have hope, only to crush it. This seemed the only logical explanation, but Javert knew, perhaps illogically, that it did not ring true. The only course of action, it appeared, was to comply with Valjean until he had a clearer idea of what to do.

For Valjean, seeing Javert before him, seemingly helpless, raised mixed emotions. He marvelled at the man's audacity, daring as he did to infiltrate the revolt, and he pitied him that he had been brought to this, tied to a post and threatened. He was also surprised at himself, that he did not feel an overwhelming anger towards this man, who had hunted him for most of his life, who had treated him so mercilessly and yet with dignity. Valjean could think of no simple words that would describe his feelings towards Javert, yet 'respect' came closest to the mark. This man, feared and almost loathed as he was, still engendered Valjean's admiration. This was not for necessarily for his actions, which put Valjean's liberty in danger, but for his methods, which were ordered and practical, uncompromising yet somehow just.

Javert must have read something of this from Valjean's face, for he frowned even further, unable to reconcile the melancholy look on the convict's face with his previous thoughts of Valjean's cruelty. Valjean nodded towards the door, and Javert started forwards, wondering what Valjean planned to do outside that could not be done inside. They walked slowly, passing groups of rebels and students, many of whom looked at Javert with unconcealed hatred but at Valjean with a sort of wary respect. 'He is, after all,' thought Javert, 'about to kill an unarmed man in cold blood. They cannot know that he has more reason than any of them to kill an enforcer of the law.'

A few students jeered at him, shouting "See what happens when spies are caught, even useless ones. Won't be so much fun now, will it."

He walked with his head high, staring directly ahead, not wanting the students and their followers to see that he was confused at the actions of the man who walked behind him, the gun in his hands pointing into the small of Javert's back. This was especially confusing to Javert, as the entire time within the café Valjean had not once pointed the gun at him. It was almost as if he was doing it for show in front of the students, but Javert could still not think of a reason why.

They walked together until they were some way from the rebels, when Valjean stopped. He bent down and cut the last remaining bonds at Javert's wrists, and yet Javert still did not move. His mind was awash with confusion that showed no sign of abating as Valjean's actions became even stranger. He had stepped back, and was pointing down an alley. Javert, with all his mental acuity, could only just grasp what the man opposite him was saying.

"Go down there, it leads to an unbarricaded street away from the rebels. Its your best chance of getting out of here alive. Go."

Javert thought his hearing had been affected. "Why? What trap lies down there? If you are going to kill me, Valjean, just do it. Do not squander time posturing."

Valjean stood silent a few seconds, and it seemed to cost him a great effort to speak. "There is no trap. You do not deserve to die here, Javert, for doing your duty. If you leave that way, you will probably not get caught."

Both men stared at each other, until Javert spoke. "Just because you do this, does not mean that I will stop hunting you. You are outside the law, Valjean, and that cannot go unpunished. One good work cannot erase a lifetime of criminality." Though his words came out harsh, Javert was truly reeling inside. Valjean had just completely disrupted his veiw of the world. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that Valjean was merely putting off his end, taunting him with the possibility of escape.

Nevertheless, the inspector stepped towards the alley Valjean was indicating, going some way down it until he stopped and leant against a wall. His everlasting posture finally slumped, now that he was away from the eyes of his enemies. He could see no way to explain events other than that he had been mistaken in Valjean, and if he was mistaken in that heinious criminal, how many other men could he have judged wrongly?

The thoughts in his brain, usually so quick and sharp, seemed sluggish and blunt, now that his world veiw had been so completely overhauled, or had at least begun to be. He still had reservations, for Valjean could not possibly be so upstanding a being as he presented, but there was no denying that the inspector had seen a different side to the criminal classes in the last few weeks, beginning with that Thenardier girl and now culminating with Valjean. But these thoughts were no barrier to Javert's duty. He knew he must go back to the barricade, this time as an open agent of the government. He stood up straight again, his brain reeling far less now that it was focused on duty, and started back towards the fighting.


	14. Chapter 14 Rescues and Releases

Hello any and all readers: sorry about the awful delay for the last chapter, it's hard to get access to a computer during uni holidays. Hope you enjoy this next chapter. Please review! By the way, Music24601, you're right!

When Javert finally reached the barricade, after a walk made agonisingly slow by the thoughts in his head, he was faced by a scene harrowing for even him, cold-hearted enforcer of the law that he was, used to seeing such sights. The bodies of the students were strewn over the barricade and at its foot, some horribly mangled. Some appeared to have tried to crawl to each other in their final moments, hoping for the comfort of company, others on their own, having died instantly.

As he rounded the corner to the barricade fully, he saw movement close to the ground. Someone was dropping down into the maze of tunnels beneath the Parisian streets. Javert knew it could be only one man; Valjean. 'He would be the one man to escape from this', Javert thought, 'no other could have such luck, skill or bravery, to go down there'. The Government's troops had not yet arrived, so the fighting could have finished only moments before; in fact, as Javert's calf brushed by a body at the bottom of the barricade he could feel that it was still warm. He bent down, meaning to close the man's eyes, when he noticed those eyes blink.

He stood up, startled, and then forced himself to kneel bedside the body. The amount of blood suggested the person could not possibly still be alive, but the blink had not been imagined. Nor had Javert imagined the face, barely recognisable under the blood. It was Eponine Thenardier, the girl to whom he owed his life, just as he owed it to Valjean. If there was any possibility that she might survive he owed it to her, and indeed to all of society, to get her to safety.

He heard the first sounds of marching boots now, and knew he had little time: if he was to leave with his burden he must leave now, or he would be obliged to help the government troops with the consolidation of their victory. He stooped to pick the girl up, and was surprised that she resisted him. He thought she had barely the strength to breathe, but as he slid his arm under her shoulders she started to turn away, muttering.

"You should just leave…it's too late. I kept hoping someone would come…never thought it would be you. But now it's too late…" Her voice trailed off, the pauses for breath she had to take becoming more ragged.

Javert, however, took no notice, as he usually did of the criminal classes. This girl was no doctor, and was therefore unqualified to state whether or not it was too late. Let some other be the judge of that. As the inspector hauled the unconscious girl onto his back he felt another flash of the feelings that had assailed him for the last few hours: why was he, the archetypal government servant, doing his all to rescue a girl he knew belonged in prison along with her family, if, indeed, she had not already been to prison?

The only answer he could provide to himself was that he was doing what was right, by society's standards and by his own. As he walked he marvelled that a girl so thin could be so heavy, though he noticed that he himself was growing heavier with the blood that was dripping from Eponine onto him.

He walked slowly, taking care not to jostle the burden on his back, and he barely knew where he was going. He had thought to try and find the Hotel Dieu, but now it would be too far away. There was one place he could go, where he knew the girl would find the help she needed. Valjean had escaped, Javert knew this, however illogically, and if he had rescued one girl, albeit a long time ago, why should he not do the same now for another. Javert thought quickly, bringing to mind all he knew about the layout of Paris and its sewers, and knew then the place where Valjean must surface to get home, for Valjean himself had told the inspector where to find him, the Rue Plumet. All that remained then was to get there himself, with the burden on his back growing heavier by the second.

Eponine's thoughts during this episode were mixed ones of pain and happiness. Every small movement of Javert's surprisingly narrow shoulders hurt abominably, yet someone had found her, was taking her to safety. She had hoped for this, though never thought it would be the inspector who found her. She had though Marius might, or one of the other students, but then, she remembered with a gasp, they were all dead, even Marius, whose life she had tried to save. She had opened her eyes a fraction to see him fall, a bullet grazing his skull, and had immediately sunk back into unconsciousness, knowing that her sacrifice had been in vain.

Now, as she moved through the streets of Paris on Javert's back, she wondered, in her brief moments of consciousness, where he was taking her. To prison, for being involved in the riot? To the Hotel Dieu, where she had been taken when she was last injured? She decided it did not even matter, as she would likely be dead before she got there. She could feel her own blood dripping from the wound at her waist and knew she surely could not have much blood left to lose. However, the last thought she had, as she was laid gently down on a patch of grass, was how happy she was that she had been found, even pointlessly. It showed that someone cared, that her life had mattered to someone other than herself.

As Javert set Eponine slowly down he put his hand to her neck to feel her pulse. It was extremely weak, barely fluttering beneath his fingers, yet she still breathed. Satisfied that she was still alive, Javert turned to the reason why he had stopped walking to find Valjean's house: Valjean himself stood in front of him, hardly recognisable due to the sewer slime that clung to him. The grate to the sewers was between them, obviously securely locked, and the expression on Valjean's face was one of despair. He too was carrying someone, a young man, most likely one of the rebellious students. Why he had thought to rescue this one, Javert did not know, but he looked to be in no better state than did Eponine.

'Even his unnatural strength will not open that grate', Javert thought, 'and why should I care if he and the rebel are left to rot down there.' But, strangely enough, he did care. He owed a debt to Valjean, and he was not one to ignore a debt. Thus having reasoned, he withdrew from a cord around his neck a most perculier instrument, one which Valjean, however, recognised immediately. A lock pick. This instrument Javert proceeded to twist around in the padlock which barred the grate, and a few moments and clicks later the gate swung open.

The two men stared at each other, much as they had done earlier when Valjean had set Javert free, and both knew that there was unfinished business between them. At that moment, though, the boy on Valjean's shoulders groaned, and Valjean opened his mouth, probably to give some explaination, but Javert spoke first, his words nothing like the formal words of arrest Valjean had expected to hear.

"There's a fiacre coming, can you hear it? If we get both of them inside we will reach our destination sooner, and so probably save their lives. Are you in agreement?"

Valjean could do nothing for a few seconds but gape and stare. When he found his voice it was to stutter, "Both of them?"

"Yes, both of them. As you can doubtless see, the girl too is injured. I thought you would be one of the few who would consider aiding a rebel, considering you too have one on your back." As Javert spoke, the fiacre he had heard rounded the corner close by them. Leaving Valjean no time to reply, Javert flagged it down. It stopped only slowly, as the driver tried to discern whether he was being flagged down by a resepectable customer, which seemed unlikely on a night such as this, when half the capital was up in revolt. Having seen the face of the man who had stopped him the driver pulled to a very smart halt. He recognised inspector Javert, covered as he was in blood and the remnants of a red scarf, and remembered too his actions of a year ago, when he had caught the man responsible for abducting his little daughter.

Javert recognised the man in return, and gave him a stiff nod before bending to the ground to pick up his burden. He laid her carefully on one of the fiacre's seats, then turned to help Valjean with the boy. When both were settled as comfortably as could be arranged Javert climbed out and spoke to the driver.

"The Rue Plumet, monsieur. And gently." Used as he was to Javert's short-spoken ways the driver merely nodded, waited for the inspector to be seated again inside, and gently clicked his tongue to send the horses forward. He had seen the amount of blood on Javert, and guessed that the two younger ones were injured. Usually he would have protested about blood in his carriage, but he knew from prior experience that it was no good protesting to the inspector.

Inside the fiacre a tense silence developed, as the criminal looked at the police officer. The inspector merely gazed out of the window, seemingly unaware of the scrutiny, though he kept glancing at the girl on the seat next to him, keeping a hand on the wound to try and stem the loss of anymore blood. The fiacre rattled on, each small bump sending a flinch through one or both of the injured people.


	15. Chapter 15 Fiacre Ride to Safety

Hey all. Don't know how much longer there is left of this story, though if you review and say you like it I'll try and make it longer. Hope it's good.

When finally the fiacre reached the Rue Plumet, Valjean was prepared to bet Javert had taken leave of his senses. He had sat silent for part of the journey, looking anywhere, it seemed, except at the man opposite. Yet after a while he had begun to whistle to himself. It was not a tune Valjean recognised, but it sounded wild and almost cold, and Valjean knew it was not a French tune. The sound seemed to break the ice between the two men, and Valjean dared a question.

"Why?"

Javert turned his head slowly away from the view he had been surveying, and looked intently at Valjean. He tilted his head to one side, resembling as he did so an inquisitive dog, and waited for Valjean to continue.

"Why open the sewer? Why not let two rebels rot underground? Surely you consider it no more than we deserve."

The look in Javert's eye suggested that he now wished he had done just that, but he nevertheless gave a reply. "That would be a poor way to repay my debt to you. And besides, it was not purely for your sake that I did it." He gave a pointed look at Eponine.

Valjean also glanced at her, but could not see what Javert was driving at. He only saw a blood soaked child, her chest rising and falling shallowly. He turned back to Javert, saying the first words that came to his head. "You wish me to take care of her? You assume that because I help one rebel I will help another? You are right, I will. But why does she matter to you?" He was about to continue, thinking that Javert had never seemed to him to be a man who had time forwomen, and particularly not for this type, a gamine.

"Because I owe her a debt also." Javert seemed about to lapse into silence again before he continued, "Why not take them both to a hospital now? Why take them to your house. You a not a doctor, nor is your daughter. Would they not have a better chance at the Hotel Dieu?"

Valjean nodded in agreement of the sense Javert's words made, but said "My house is nearer than any hospital, and nor is it likely that a doctor would treat anyone injured tonight, for fear of being thought a rebel sympathiser by the authorities. It is better if we wiat,and treat them the best we can ourselves, until the danger has died down". It was Valjean's long years of convict's instincts which told him that what he said was true, though he barely considered the words that he spoke.

"I understand." Javert nodded slowly, as he saw the wisdom, or cunning, in Valjean's opinion.

That seemed to be the last that Valjean would hear from Javert for a while, for he was being even more laconic than his norm. He had so many more questions though, particularly why the upstanding Inspector Javert should carry a lock pick around with him, and how he could use it with such obvious ease and competence. This question, and others, would, however, have to remain unanswered for a time. Both men resumed their viewing of the night that rushed past the fiacre, the driver instinctively knowing that both speed and care were required.

Valjean was caught in a web of thoughts. He had seen this girl before, he now realised. She was the daughter of Thenardier, the man who had not only abused Cosette as a child, but tried to rob him in the recent past. He knew from Cosette's whimpering in her sleep that the man's daughters had not been the sisters Fantine had thought they could be to her own daughter, and yet looking at the girl now he could see no harm in her, half-dead as she was. He had seen her at the barricade, throwing herself in front of the bullet meant for Marius, and his feeling of pity for her grew. He would help her recover, he decided, then she would be on her way. She could do no harm to Cosette now, seeing his daughter now had a new protector; the boy who was lying prone beside Valjean. The thought of this constricted Valjean's heart, and he forced the feeling down: it was unworthy of him to first save the boy's life then feel jealous of him.

Across from him, Javert was also deep in thought. So far, his only plan had been to get Eponine to someone who would help her. That having been done, he was now at a loss. There was no reason for his continued presence around her: he had saved her life and his debt was repaid, so why did he feel bound to remain any longer? The only reason that presented itself was that she was not yet entirely safe, and that he would have to remain until she was.

The fiacre had rattled on, eventually coming to a halt before the Rue Plumet, where Javert swiftly jumped out, giving a pointed look to Valjean, who understood exactly what the man wanted. He gently lifted Eponine up and set her down again in Javert's arm, before turning back to liftMarius as well.

As Javert waited for the older man to jump down from the fiacre he looked around the street on which Valjean now lived. It was in an affluent area of Paris, at least for the time, and from the outside at least the house looked large, and even had a garden. At the ex-convict's nod, Javert entered the house immediately, not waiting for Valjean to enter first. Javert cared little whether he startled the other occupants of the house, so he merely walked into the first room off the entrance hall. It was, as he had expected, a reception room, with a couch were he laid Eponine down, and quickly stepped outside to help the older man with his heavier burden.

Cosette sat up right in her bed, listening to the soft sounds coming from downstairs. The footsteps stopped suddenly, and she heard the springs of furniture go from the room below hers. She had not slept that night: how could she, with her father mysteriously gone and with no word from Marius? Could these sounds be her father returning from wherever it was he had gone? She knew he had no business being outside, he knew about the uprising just as she did.

She slipped a shawl over her shoulders and quietly descended the stairs, entering the front room silently. All looked as it had done earlier, when she had paced this room waiting for her father's return until Toussaint had persuaded her to rest, if not to sleep. Cosette turned to look through the window, where a fiacre was parked close to their house, and it was then that she saw a figure on the couch under the window. She stifled a gasp as she saw the face. It was barely recognisable as human, let alone female, but recognise her Cosette did. Eponine. The girl with such contradictions in her past. She had led Marius to Cossette, yet she had been so cruel as a child. She had been beautiful then, so that Cosette's heart had been full of envy, but now she was more wretched than Cosette had ever been.

She was only made more pitiable by the spreading stain of red on her blouse. Cosette was no nurse, but she knew that that much blood loss could be fatal, especially for an emaciated woman barely out of childhood. She knelt down by the girl's side, and gently lifted the filthy shirt which barely covered Eponine's stomach. When she saw the wound Cosette swayed a little, as blood still leaked from the wound, which was ragged and the flesh around was swollen.

Cosette had little idea of what to do, other than to stem the bleeding as best she could until help could be brought. She was about to tear off the hem of her dress when she heard the door open behind her. She spun quickly, to see her father and a man she did not know carrying Marius between them. He was beyond pale, except for the splashes of blood and filth on him, and Valjean looked in scarcely better condition. The men laid the injured boy down on another couch but once that was done Valjean immediately went to his daughter. He put his hands on her shoulders gently, as if he had no other words to say.

Eventually he found his voice. "Cosette, they both need a physician, but obviously none will come here, nor can we go there, with the fighting still on the streets. We will have to care for them as best we can until tomorrow, when it will be safer. I want you to fetch Touissant and see if you can find linin for bandages and warm water."

Her father had barely finished speakingbefore Cosette was by the door, eager to do anything to help the wounded boy and girl who lay so pale and still.


	16. Chapter 16 Recovery or Not

Here we are then, guys. All I can say is I apologise profusely for the epic delay in up-dating. I would say that it's the university's fault, but there really is no excuse. Please review, just to let me know I'm forgiven.

Javert could stand still no longer. It had taken all of his formidable self –restraint and control not to start pacing hours ago, after the doctor had arrived and his role as incompetent nurse was no longer required. Of himself, Cosette and Valjean he had the most experience dealing with wounds, and so had completed the few simple tasks that could be done to help Eponine and Marius, gently cleaning the areas around their wounds and staunching the blood with bandages. This had kept him busy until the doctor arrived, but then, with nothing to do, he had become restless. Cosette and Valjean were still with the doctor and his patients, performing such tasks as they could to assist, which mainly involved praying, something Javert could not stomach at that point. Valjean had invited Javert to eat with them, claiming that 'even such a paragon as Javert must eat', but he had refused, claiming lack of appetite, but the truth was if he had eaten with them, he would have felt himself under some sort of obligation to them, as a guest is obligated to his host. They had seemed rather affronted, Cosette in particular, though Valjean had had a knowing look in his eyes, as if he had guessed Javert's true reason for refusing.

In truth, he was regretting that now. As Valjean had pointed out, he was only human, and he needed to eat. He started pacing, resolving to wait until asked to join the next meal. It would only be polite, after all. He was in the entrance hall of Valjean's house, and now that he was at leisure to really look around he was struck and impressed by the overall tastefulness of the house, with its simpleness, yet there was evidence of quality to be seen in the furnishings too. Javert had never considered that an ex-convict could be so refined and clean in his habits. He had imagined Valjean as hiding away in a dirty hovel, but the more Javert looked around, the more he saw the elements that the house had in common with his own dwelling: the lack of clutter, for example, though there was more of a female touch here. This comparison between himself and Valjean caught him by surprise, and before this day any such thought would have revolted him. Now, however, it created another circle of thought, as he assessed how alike they were, in fact.

His musings were interrupted by Cosette, who entered the room slowly, and waited for Javert to turn and face her before she spoke.

"Excuse me, Monsieur, but my father wishes to know if you will join us for dinner, since you missed lunch. He says there has been some progress with both Marius and Eponine that you may wish to discuss."

Javert nodded. "Certainly, Mademoiselle. I apologise for my rudeness for not accepting earlier."

Cosette smiled shyly at the tall, intimidating man, and led him to the house's small dining room. Valjean was already within, waiting for them. He gestured to a chair to his left, bidding Javert to be seated.

"I thought you might like to know how our two revolutionaries are faring. Marius is making a swift recovery, thankfully, though I'm afraid there are more complications with Eponine, according to the doctor. She was weak even before the blood loss."

Javert sat still as Valjean talked, frozen into a statue form. He had always faced stress with stillness. While other men might pace or rail, he was still and silent. He knew what the older man was doing. He was preparing him in case Eponine should die. He waited until Valjean had finished, then looked him in the eye. "I understand. But I think that you underestimate the gamine. If she was going to die, she would have done so by now."

He stopped as a servant brought in the meal, laid it out before them and left the room. Valjean was gazing at him thoughtfully. "Would you like to say grace, Monsieur, as you are the guest?"

Javert was at the point of refusing, telling Valjean that his faith, if such you could call it, did not revolve around thanking a merciful God for his bounty, but something stopped him, possibly the wish to be polite in another man's house, even if the other man was an ex-convict, a fact which he was rapidly becoming clouded in his mind. He bowed his head and muttered "Thanks be to God for his blessings." He raised his chin and caught something of a smile flicker across Valjean face before the other man reached for the dishes in front of them. Javert let himself be served and slowly chewed the food placed before him. He felt Valjean's eyes upon him, and looked into his gaze.

Valjean looked back, his eyes soft and understanding, and no small part curious. Javert could tell he was bursting to ask again about the connection between himself and Eponine. In truth, Javert was wondering about that himself. He felt _responsible _for her, as though she was in his custody, in a non-criminal sense. But how could he articulate his thoughts to Valjean if he himself was confused about them? If he would even consider telling Valjean in any case.

But while Valjean had the restraint necessary not to burst out with questions, it seemed that Cosette did not. She opened her mouth to form a question, but Javert pre-empted her. "There was no rational reason behind my actions in saving Eponine, Mademoiselle, apart from human instinct. There was no ulterior motive, no matter what your father may have told you about me."

Cosette's eyes widened in shock, and she turned to Valjean, whose expression confirmed her earlier suspicions: the two men did indeed know each other, and, she was sure, not in a positive way.

"I have never mentioned you to my daughter, I have always been too busy running away from you. But give me some credit for knowing what I was running away from: of course you had no ulterior motive. Your only motive has ever been to up-hold the law. Though why you should act to save a girl who so obviously contravened the law is beyond me. "

There was respect and a question in Valjean's voice, but the tension in the room was alleviated, or merely shifted focus, as the doctor entered the room. His serious expression told them what news to expect before he opened his mouth. "I am afraid that there are further complications with the girl. Infection has set in and she was frail anyway. I do not think that there is much hope, but if she lasts the night, then the storm should break and she may recover. There is nothing else I can do for her. I suggest keeping her cool and hydrated. The young man, however, is well on the way to recovery, I am glad to say."

Valjean stood up, and led the doctor from the room, to discuss payment, but Javert sat rooted in his chair. All he could think was that he had not gone through all the effort of keeping Eponine alive to have her die on him now.


	17. Chapter 17 Awakenings

Another chapter for everyone, please read and review. The story is, I think, drawing to a close now, maybe 2 or 3 chapters left. Cheers.

Eponine had heard all the clichés of people floating into unconsciousness, but she knew those clichés were false. She was not floating, but falling, with her surroundings becoming ever darker. She thought she heard voices, as if from far away, saying words she didn't understand, and felt distant hands upon her, and pain, a constant, fiery pain in her side. She did not know for how long she was falling, but she knew when she stopped. The voices around her had become clearer, and the touch of hands on her skin was obvious and gentle. There was a man's voice, rough and gravely, yet speaking kind words. "The fever has cooled . I believe she is no longer in danger, though who am I to know? Certianly she is no longer burning up like before."

There was a grunt from nearby, and a different set of hands touched her forehead. They were smoother than the other persons', lighter and cooler, though certainly not feminine. Another grunt came, this time sounding like an agreement.

"Why not get some rest, Javert?" The other person spoke again. "You've not slept properly since before the night of the barricade. As I said before, even one such as you cannot continue forever without food and rest. As you can see, she is recovering, and there is no need to drive yourself to the brink of destruction when it will do her no good."

These words peirced Eponine's mind. So Javert was there. It must have been he who rescued her from the barricade, but why? What purpose would it serve? Did he believe that she could continue as his tame criminal, reporting the doings of her own class? It was hardly likely that she could. Her father would have warned everyone he knew about her change ofheart. Perhaps Javert still considered himself in her debt, and was merely repaying it. Eponine thought this was far more likely than any idea that he had somehow become attatched to her, as the other man's words seemed to imply.

Yet another grunt came from her side, and the cool hands were removed. A chair scraped on the floor and Eponine felt the disturbance of air as the inspector stood up.

"Someone must stay with her though, in case there are any changes." Hearing Javert's voice, Eponine tried harder to open her eyes, but although her eyelids flickered weakly, she could manage no other response.

"Of course", the other man said. "I will watch both her and Marius, and will send for you if there are any changes."

Eponine could retain conciousness no longer, and she was falling again, though less deeply than before.

After several hours, Valjean was unsurprised by movement coming from the far bed. The doctor had said that Marius was well on the way to recovery, and they had been expecting him to awaken soon. He had not meant to allow Marius to see him, for it would make him beholden to Valjean, something which he had been, and was still, reluctant to do, though with two patients to look after it did not seem feasible to move one and not the other. There was a groan, and further movements, then the young man's eyes opened, though they did not focus immediately. When they did, and had found Valjean's face, he gasped. "Monsiuer LeBlanc!"

Valjean looked at him, bemused, thinking that perhaps Marius had a touch of fever like Eponine. "I'm afraid I am not he, monsiuer. I am Jean Valjean, known to most now as Fauchelevent. I believe you know my daughter, Cosette. It is because ofher that you are here." With that Valjean fell silent, but Marius immediately leapt on Valjean's words.

"Cosette? She sent you to the Barricade? For me?"

Valjean shook his head. "No. She did not know you were at the Barricade until I brought you here. I sent myself to the Barricade, for you. A young boy brought a letter here, for my daughter, and I knew that I could not let the writer of that letter die if I could prevent it. I knew it would destroy Cosette if that happened, and her happiness is everything to me. So here we are."

Marius seemed to be in shock, but not so much as Eponine, who had regained a semblence of consciousness during their conversation, for now she remembered the man who had taken Cosette away from the Thenardier family as a child, for although she could not yet see him, his voice remained identical, soft and gravelly, and not weakened with the years. Indeed he had barely changed physically, for he looked as tough and solid as ever. But how much had changed for the girls in that time. Cosette had blossomed, while Eponine and Azelma had withered into parodies of their former selves. Small wonder it was Cosette that Marius had turned to. But that did not matter now. Not much did matter, except to get well and leave this house, to escape from a place where soon there would be so much happiness. She would not be able to bear it. She shifted slightly, as if to flinch away from the pain in her thoughts, and even this small movement was noticed by Valjean.

He came to stand beside her bed, hoping she would wake. If she was to survive she would need fluids, and to drink she must be awake. Feeling his presence beside her, Eponine resumed her previous struggle with her eyelids. They flickered, then gradually opened, though only to slits as the light was too bright after many days of darkness. Valjean was the first thing she saw, his comforting presence at the top of her bed, holding out a glass of water for her.

"Sip this," he said, "slowly." Eponine did as she was bid, her eyes moving slowly around the room. When she saw Marius, she nodded slightly, happy that she had saved this young man, even at the cost to herself. Marius nodded back, while Valjean assessed the looks that passed between the two. Something deeper was passing between them, at least on Eponine's part, and Valjean remembered something he had glimpsed at the barricade: a boy, flinging himself in front of Marius and an impending bullet, before falling on the other side of the barricade. Had Eponine been that figure? Certainly she had been shot, and her other injuries seemed congruent with falling from a height. He would have to ask her, but later, when she was more recovered.

He could see her fighting to stay awake, but before he could suggest she rest to regain her strength she blurted out "Where's Monsieur L'Inspecteur? I 'eard 'im earlier, I know I did." Her voice was even harsher than usual, and so quiet.

"Javert is resting. He has barely left your side since he brought you here, four days ago now."

Eponine heard Valjean's words but they made very little sense. Valjean saw her eyes becoming glazed, and spoke softly. "I think you should also rest now, Eponine. Sleep." And, wondering how the man had remembered her name after so many years, Eponine slept.


	18. Chapter 18 A Better World

It was not pain that brought Eponine back to consciousness, though there as an uncomfortable feeling in her chest. She stirred herself, trying to raise herself onto her elbow. The room was vacant, and she judged it to be early morning. She thought back, trying to remember when she had last been conscious, and she recalled that Marius had been on a bed opposite her own, and yet there was no sign of him there now. But there were voices from outside the door, those of a man and a girl. Valjean and Cosette, she surmised. They sounded like they were arguing, and Eponine could only imagine that they were arguing about her. Cosette would not want her here, no matter if she had saved Marius' life, and while Valjean might have defied the law to take in a fugitive from the barricade, if Cossette wished her gone he would not gainsay her.

Sitting up took more effort than she had expected, and standing even more so, yet she was determined to leave as quickly as possible. When her clothes had been taken away, she could not remember, but now she was clad in a thick nightgown, too big for her emaciated frame. No doubt it was Cosette's. Eponine walked stiffly to the door, the bandages on her chest impeding her movement. She gained the door, and opened it stealthily. If she was quiet, she might be able to leave the house unnoticed, for she detected no other signs of movement. She padded down the hall, hoping to find a back-entrance to the house, but the doors she tried only led her to sitting rooms and pantries.

Javert sat in the kitchen, staring into the fire. Why he was still in Valjean's house, he could not say. Why he had not placed Valjean under arrest was even more so, though he suspected it had something to do with the girl who lay asleep in one of the rooms in the house. His feelings had gone beyond the fact he was responsible for the injury that had almost cost Eponine her life. He admired her toughness, even felt affection for her, though very much in a fatherly sense.

Javert almost growled at himself. He felt he was becoming like Valjean, ready to take in any stray orphan. But after being in close contact with Valjean, since they had rescued Marius and Eponine, Javert had come to realise a few things about the man: he had been a criminal, certainly, but Javert now realised that there were crimes and there were _crimes_. Some crimes were committed with the very best of intentions, he knew now. There were still those who were criminals by choice, not necessity, but Javert recognised now that Valjean was not one of these.

"You're still 'ere?"

The gravelly voice from behind him almost made him jump, if he had not recognised it. Without turning round he replied "Evidently. As are you. Though judging by the way you are trying to sneak around, I would say that you are trying to leave, before you have recovered."

It was a statement, not a question, but Javert could sense the slow nodding of Eponine's head. So she wanted to leave this house, where she would be safe and able to live in comfort, at least until she was better. Turning to face her he asked softly "Why should you wish to leave? Surely you have figured out that the man who owns this house is willing for you to stay here for as long as you need?"

Eponine stared at him dumbly for a moment, then shook her head. "I hurt his daughter once, a long time ago. It is not right that he should help me. My family is responsible for so much of their suffering. Cosette probably thinks I am here solely to destroy her happiness. God knows once I would have."

Her eyes were closed, her face screwed up in misery. Javert could see that she was determined to leave this place, where she could have been happy, if only she would let herself be. "What will you do then? You cannot go back to your family. You no longer belong on the streets, that is obvious."

"I could go to Gavroche, my brother. He would take me in."

Javert looked confused for a moment, then disturbed. "Gavroche? The little boy at the barricade?"

Eponine nodded. "Yes, he was there." She looked at Javert, feeling her heart sink. "What has happened? How did the resistance at the barricade end?"

In truth, in her heart she knew already. There had been no survivors except her and Marius. All those young men, her brother, were all gone. They had sacrificed themselves for a better world, but it had not come about.

Or at least, not yet, she thought with determination. But perhaps their methods had been wrong. Revolution perhaps would not create a better world, but it could happen other ways. Perhaps Javert's way was also a method of making the world better. She would try it and see.

She lifted her chin, and looked at Javert steadily. "I cannot bring my brother back, I know, but perhaps I can make sure he and the students did not die in vain. I can bring about a better world, but in a different way. By working through the law."

Javert nodded. He saw himself differently now. He was still a ruthless enforcer of the law, but the law itself had a different meaning for him now. Fairness had always been a key concept to him, but now it was tempered with mercy, a change which was due to the woman in front of him. Together they would make this better world that she dreamed of.


End file.
